CHAPTER 158
Pyke.
The Drowned God Temple.
Though called a temple, it was in truth an ancient stone fortress.
Its walls were rugged and weathered, scarred by countless years of sea wind and salt spray.
Because the temple itself was too small, the courtyard before it had become the place chosen for the trial.
At the entrance stood a rough wooden table, upon which rested a crown forged from black iron.
It symbolized the ruler of the Iron Islands and the authority of the Seastone Chair.
Once the trial ended, it would be placed upon Asha Greyjoy's head.
Beside the long table stood two withered weirwood saplings.
Their pale bark was mottled with age, each trunk no thicker than a grown man's wrist, while a handful of crimson leaves hung weakly from dying branches, standing in sharp contrast to the harsh stone surroundings.
It was said these two weirwoods had been planted years ago by Lady Alannys Harlaw after marrying Balon Greyjoy.
Now they stood on the verge of death, and no one knew how much longer they would survive.
At this moment, every captain of the Iron Islands who had received the summons had gathered in the courtyard.
One after another, they looked toward Asha standing before the temple and Garon standing beside the dying weirwoods.
Their expressions varied.
Some showed awe.
Some curiosity.
Some caution.
Hidden even deeper were calculation and fear.
Rodrik Harlaw stood among them.
His eyes quietly swept over the disciplined Glover soldiers guarding every corner of the courtyard, and he sighed inwardly.
"Asha... Asha..."
"How could you bring Northern soldiers into Pyke?"
When Maester Wendamyr's raven first reached Ten Towers, Rodrik had been astonished.
He had never imagined his niece possessed enough courage to secretly return through hidden sea routes and seize Pyke in one decisive stroke.
For that alone, he had felt genuine pride.
Yet after arriving at Pyke, everything he saw differed greatly from what he had expected.
The Northern soldiers had taken complete control of the castle.
Meanwhile, the Ironborn, who should have been the masters of the island, could only remain outside under watch.
Rodrik had immediately sought out Asha to understand the situation.
Only then did he learn about Garon Glover.
Especially when he saw the unmistakable admiration in Asha's eyes whenever she mentioned Garon...
His worries deepened.
He feared his niece might make an emotional decision.
"Forget it."
"Once Euron's trial is over, Garon and the Northerners should return home."
"After that..."
"I'll persuade Asha to choose a suitable husband as quickly as possible and stabilize the Iron Islands."
While Rodrik silently pondered, the heavy sound of dragging chains echoed across the courtyard.
Euron Crow's Eye was escorted forward by two burly Northern soldiers.
His shattered left arm hung at an unnatural angle.
Untreated for days, the wound already carried the stench of rotting flesh.
Heavy iron shackles bound both ankles, making every step difficult.
Even so...
There was not the slightest trace of despair in his remaining eye.
Instead, it burned with madness, hatred and terrifying malice.
The soldiers forced him onto his knees in the center of the courtyard directly before the long table and the two dying weirwoods.
Asha stepped forward.
Dressed simply in leather armor, she glared at Euron with hatred she had suppressed for far too long.
"Euron Greyjoy murdered my father, King Balon."
"He committed kinslaying."
"He usurped the Seastone Chair."
"He defied both the laws of men and the will of the Drowned God."
"What punishment should such a man receive?"
Her sharp voice rang throughout the courtyard.
Yet after she finished speaking...
The assembled captains remained silent.
Several breaths passed without anyone answering.
Only after Rodrik Harlaw recovered from his surprise did he suddenly shout,
"Execute him!"
The silence finally broke.
"Drown him!"
"Offer him to the Drowned God!"
The scattered cries gradually merged into a chorus.
Still...
The atmosphere remained awkward.
Seeing this, Garon's lips curved into a faint smile.
Asha, however, simply pulled out her hand axe and swept her gaze across every captain.
"What?"
"Do any of you still wish to defend a kinslayer?"
Naturally...
None wished to speak for a defeated king.
One after another, they raised their weapons and shouted in agreement until their voices overwhelmed even the crashing waves.
Amid the uproar...
Euron suddenly began laughing.
His laughter was hoarse...
Twisted...
Filled with endless contempt.
"Heh... heh..."
"Hahahahaha..."
"A pack of groveling sea maggots..."
He slowly raised his head.
His remaining eye swept across the captains who had once knelt before him as though staring at a pile of refuse.
"You think..."
"You can kill me?"
"Hahaha..."
"Then witness the power of a god!"
Under everyone's astonished gaze...
Euron suddenly raised his broken left arm and violently tore away the eyepatch covering his left eye.
Beneath it...
Inside the dark socket floated an unnatural grey-white eye.
The instant anyone looked into it...
An indescribable chill invaded their hearts.
It carried pure malice.
A pressure that seemed capable of crushing the soul itself.
Almost instinctively...
Everyone took a step backward.
Even Garon.
His crimson eyes narrowed.
An overwhelming sense of danger suddenly exploded within him.
"My lovely niece..."
"You think you deserve the Seastone Chair?"
"What gives you that right?"
"You whore..."
"You sold yourself."
"You climbed into Garon Glover's bed."
"And now you think relying on him will make you Queen?"
"Keep dreaming!"
With the eyepatch removed, the madness on Euron's face became even more terrifying.
At the same time...
An invisible force erupted from his body.
Bang!
The two Northern soldiers restraining him were blasted backward instantly.
Euron glared directly at Garon.
Their eyes met.
"I'm going to kill you..."
"Garon Glover..."
"I'm going to kill you!"
"As long as I kill you..."
"The god will grant me life once more."
"As long as I kill you..."
"I'll reclaim everything."
"Die!"
"Not good..."
The instant their eyes met, Garon felt as though a needle had pierced straight into his soul.
The overwhelming danger forced him to avert his gaze.
But...
He was already too late.
Almost simultaneously...
An invisible wave of sorcery slammed into him.
Bang!
It felt as though an enormous giant had struck him head-on.
His entire body flew backward.
Crack!
The dying weirwood shattered beneath the impact.
Its brittle trunk split into several pieces.
By sheer coincidence...
One broken section landed beside Garon.
"Cough..."
"Cough..."
"What..."
"What is this?"
Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to rise.
Seeing this...
Euron laughed even more wildly.
"Hahahaha!"
"Die, Garon!"
Fresh blood streamed from his strange eye.
His face resembled a demon crawling out from the deepest hell.
Another invisible wave surged toward Garon.
"My Lord!"
Ron and Mihawk shouted at the same time.
Sparta roared furiously and charged forward without hesitation, intending to block the attack himself.
Asha's face turned pale.
Without thinking, she hurled her hand axe toward Euron in hopes of interrupting him.
Yet before anyone could reach him...
Garon felt his soul completely frozen beneath endless despair and hatred.
His body refused to move.
"Move..."
"Move!"
Then...
Just as despair threatened to consume him...
Something unexpected happened.
His hand accidentally touched the broken weirwood branch.
The lifeless wood immediately responded.
Brilliant emerald vitality spread from the fractured surface at a speed visible to the naked eye.
In an instant, it covered the entire branch.
The dying weirwood transformed.
Its wood became smooth as polished jade.
Warmth replaced the icy malice surrounding it.
At that exact moment...
The blessing the old gods had once bestowed upon Garon's soul seemed to awaken in response.
The ancient power stirred once more.
Almost by instinct...
Garon grasped the transformed white branch like a staff.
Holding it before himself...
He met Euron's sorcery head-on.
Buzz!
The violent collision everyone expected never came.
Instead...
The moment Euron's magic touched the white staff, it dissolved like frost beneath the summer sun.
It vanished completely.
Only a faint sizzling sound lingered in the air, almost like a mournful scream.
Everyone present froze.
Rodrik Harlaw...
The Reader himself...
Stared blankly at Garon standing beneath the morning light while holding the glowing white staff.
Suddenly...
A forgotten name buried deep within ancient songs and the oldest legends of the Iron Islands erupted into his mind like thunder.
His entire body trembled.
Pointing toward Garon with a shaking finger, Rodrik shouted with all his strength.
"He..."
"He is Garon!"
"Garon of the White Staff!"
"The legendary servant of the Drowned God..."
"The one who bears the divine staff..."
"The judge of injustice..."
"The man destined to guide the Kingsmoot..."
"He has returned!"
At that instant...
The entire courtyard exploded into chaos.