SWNOVELXO Chapter 159: The Old Way
The sky was dim.
The salty sea water ceaselessly eroded the islands and reefs, leaving behind white sea salt and carrying away the rocks it touched.
The Greyjoy family's Pyke was a masterpiece of the sea.
It was originally built on a cliff protruding from the sea, but as the supporting rocks were continuously eroded, Pyke's towers gradually became isolated on fragile and crumbling reefs.
Pyke, riddled with hidden reefs, had been unable to dock longships since then, becoming increasingly solitary and indifferent.
It was clearly not hospitable.
The Main Keep, Blood Keep, Sea Tower – all the towers were connected by swaying ropes and constantly shifting bridges.
Walking on such roads felt like constantly receiving Pyke's malice and rejection.
This was in keeping with the character of the Iron Islands.
Only the tenacious and cruel Ironborn were willing to live in such a castle.
Its feasts were equally harsh and dangerous.
Smoke filled the Main Keep's great hall. Hundreds of Iron Islands chieftains and captains filled the long tables, gulping down ale, breaking open hard black bread, picking at pickled fish with daggers to gnaw on, and vigorously tearing into unseasoned roast mutton.
Three burly men performed the Finger Dance.
A series of short-handled axes were thrown and circulated back and forth between the three men. The rule of the game was that participants caught or dodged the axes but were not allowed to move a single step.
The reason this game was called the Finger Dance was that it usually ended when someone lost a finger...
If they were unlucky, it was two, or even all five.
If the chieftains and captains serving as guests felt like it, they would stand up at any time, extend a hand, and it would be considered a challenge.
The strong men performing the Finger Dance naturally understood, and with a slight disguise, an axe suddenly flew out of their hand. The sharp axe sliced past torch after torch, its tumbling blade flashing with cold light.
The guests at the long tables were veterans; the danger of the Finger Dance was almost non-existent for them.
Of course, if someone was truly unlucky or too drunk to think clearly and failed to catch the axe, it would instead add some atmosphere to the feast.
At this moment.
The loser would either retreat dejectedly or, like a man, quickly treat their wound with fire and sea water and continue to eat and drink heartily.
The others would then decide whether to give loud boos or cheers and whistles.
Fortunately, this feast was quite peaceful.
The dancers' performance went smoothly. The men spun and tumbled while playing with the axes, calm and leisurely, like the clowns in the Green Lands who tossed soft spheres.
Slaves ran back and forth, pouring wine for the chieftains.
The hall echoed with the music from fiddles and drums, like the sea wind and waves, like a battle roar.
Balon Greyjoy sat on the Seastone Chair. This monstrous seat was carved from a dark, oily giant stone.
Legend had it that when the First Men first set foot on the Iron Islands, this giant stone lay on the beach of Old Wyk.
And this throne had become the private property of the Greyjoy family.
At this time.
His two younger brothers and only daughter sat beside him.
Balon, on the Seastone Chair, was silent, his body gaunt. It was as if he had been placed in a large pot by the gods and boiled dry of every inch of muscle, leaving only skin and hair.
Like a hard skeleton.
However, his face was sharply defined, as if carved from flint, his black eyes were extremely sharp, and his hair, ravaged by time and sea wind, was the gray of the winter sea, interspersed with a few white waves, unkempt and hanging past his shoulders.
Just one look at him was enough to understand the deep stubbornness, cruelty, and lack of reverence in his soul.
A typical Ironborn.
He watched everything happening below with cold eyes, occasionally revealing a smile, which was always a cruel smile.
Mocking, sneering, cold, hateful smiles.
And an arrogant smile for the victory and throne he was about to reclaim by following the "Old Way."
The Old Way. Yes, it was time to restore the Old Way! How could the Ironborn be content with farming? They must pay the Iron Price, seize it themselves, prosper as reavers, and restore the glory of ancient times!
To restore the Old Way.
In his hands, the Iron Islands were once again united, ready to take everything with swords and fire.
He scanned the faces below.
The Stonehouse chieftain, dressed in sealskin, was brave and loyal enough.
Dennis Drumm, heir to the Drumm family, and his brother Donnel Drumm, two warriors, competent captains.
Rodrik Harlaw, "Rodrik the Reader." How could such a man be the chieftain of Harlaw, how could he lead the resolute Ironborn?
For the sake of Harlaw's longships and his wife from Harlaw, Balon Greyjoy overlooked him.
Next was the lord of Blacktyde, Baler Blacktyde, whose face was smooth like a ten-year-old whore's, and to top it off, he even believed in the Seven of the Green Lands!
How could there be such people serving as chieftains for the Ironborn!
Balon Greyjoy's expression grew colder as he surveyed the others.
The Goodbrother, Sparr, and Myre families of Great Wyk, the Sunderly and Stonehouse families of Saltcliffe, the Botley and Winch families of Pyke...
Fortunately, most of them still looked like Ironborn, like Captains who dared to raid Lords and Kings.
Like Warriors who followed the Old Way.
To restore the Old Way, Balon Greyjoy had made an attempt nine years ago.
That time he failed, losing all his sons, leaving only his daughter Asha. Fortunately, this daughter took an axe as her husband and was more qualified to sail and raid than many men.
But this time was different.
Robert, who had smashed the walls of Pyke, had been killed by a beast. The kingdom Aegon had built was divided and hostile. The Green Lands were in chaos, with two little brats vying for the Iron Throne.
The Lannisters had not gained loyal enough allies, while the little child Renly from back then now had a hundred thousand Swords.
Ha!
Who would win?
Balon Greyjoy only hoped these two families would quickly slaughter each other, drain their blood, exhaust their strength, and preferably kill each other at the same time, just like that pair of twins during the Dance of the Dragons, whose names he couldn't recall, who perished together, leaving only a story.
Of course, Balon was just thinking. He preferred to personally and utterly destroy his enemies, both of them.
Hmph! Two arrogant fools.
One brat wanted him to do nothing, to be content with his lot. What did he offer? "Guardian of the Sunset Sea," an empty title.
Even when feeding a dog, you'd give it a bone!
The other was a bit smarter, promising the Ironborn free rein to plunder land and Wealth, with no need to return it later. Of course, he still had to kneel and serve this noble King, and then receive rewards.
Two Kings.
Balon Greyjoy would choose neither.
The Ironborn did not need charity; they would practice the Old Way themselves. The Ironborn did not need to kneel to Kings from the Green Lands; they had their own King!
Balon Greyjoy had already prepared the Crown.
As the chief raider of Pyke, Salt King and Rock King, Son of the Sea Wind, he was determined to pay the Iron Price, to seize it himself, just like Urragon the Thrice-Drowned five thousand years ago.
Who would receive the first Iron Price?
Balon Greyjoy rose from the Seastone Chair.
"Finish your Ale and gather in my Study," he ordered Victarion, Euron, and Asha on the high platform.
"I will announce the plan."
-----------
Machine Translation by: https:// randomtranslator.com/
Read 777+ original & fanfic translations in English, Español, Português, Deutsch, Français, or Русский at: https:// randomtranslator.com/
Join our Discord: https:// discord.gg/NSWvfN7vua
-----------