Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web

Chapter 159 The Ancient Way

The sky was dim.

The salty seawater relentlessly eroded the island reefs, leaving behind white sea salt and taking away the rocks it touched.

Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy, was a masterpiece of the sea.

It was originally built on a cliff jutting out of the sea, but as the rocks supporting the cliff were continuously eroded, Pyke's towers were gradually isolated on fragile and precarious reefs.

The reef-filled Pyke had since become unable to dock longships, becoming increasingly isolated and indifferent.

It was clearly not hospitable.

The Great Keep, the Blood Bridge, the Sea Tower—all the towers were connected by swaying ropes and constantly moving bridges.

Walking on such paths seemed to constantly receive Pyke's malice and rejection.

It perfectly matched 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.

In the smoky Great Hall of the Great Keep, hundreds of Iron Islands chieftains and captains filled the long tables, gulping down ale, splitting hard black bread, using daggers to pick up pickled fish to gnaw on, and tearing at unseasoned roast mutton.

Three burly men performed the finger dance.

A series of short-handled axes were tossed and circulated back and forth between the three men. The rule of the game was that participants had to catch or avoid the axes without moving a step.

The game was called the finger dance because it usually ended when someone lost a finger…

If luck was bad, it was two, or even all five.

The chieftains and captains acting as guests would rise at any time if they were in the mood, extending a palm as a challenge.

The strong men performing the finger dance naturally understood, and after some feinting, an axe suddenly flew out of hand. The sharp axe cut through torches, the rolling blade flashing with cold light.

The guests by the long table were all veterans, and the danger of the finger dance was almost non-existent.

Of course, if one was really unlucky or too drunk to think clearly and failed to catch the axe, it would add to the atmosphere of the banquet.

At this time.

The loser either retreated in disgrace, or like a man, quickly dealt with the injury with fire and seawater and continued to eat and drink.

The others would decide whether to give a loud boo, or cheers and whistles.

Fortunately, this banquet was quite peaceful.

The dancers performed smoothly, turning in circles and somersaults while playing with the axes, calm and comfortable, like the jesters of the Reach tossing soft balls.

Slaves ran back and forth, pouring wine for the chieftains.

The hall echoed with music from violins and drums, like sea breeze and waves, like war cries.

Balon Greyjoy sat on the Seastone Chair. This sea monster-like seat was carved from a piece of dark and shiny giant rock.

Legend has it that when the First Men first set foot on the Iron Islands, this giant rock lay on the beach of Old Wyk.

And this throne had become the private property of House Greyjoy.

At this moment.

His two younger brothers and only daughter sat beside him.

Balon on the Seastone Chair was silent, his body thin and frail. It was as if the gods had put him in a pot and boiled away every inch of muscle, leaving only skin and hair.

Like a hard skeleton.

However, his face was angular, almost carved from flint, his black eyes were very sharp, and his hair, ravaged by years and sea winds, had become the gray of the winter sea, interspersed with a few white waves, hanging down past his shoulders without being tied up.

Just one look at him was enough to understand the deep stubbornness, coldness, and lack of awe in his soul.

A typical Ironborn.

He watched everything that happened below with cold eyes, and the occasional smile was always a cruel one.

Mockery, sarcasm, sneering, hateful laughter.

And an arrogant smile at the victory and throne that were about to be seized back 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 old!

In order to restore the Old Way.

In his hands, the Iron Islands had once again united, ready to seize everything with swords and fire.

He scanned the faces below.

Lord Stonehouse, wearing sealskin, was still considered brave and loyal.

Denys Drumm, the heir to House Drumm, and his brother Donnel Drumm, two warriors, qualified captains.

Rodrik Harlaw, "Rodrik the Reader," how could such a person be the lord of Harlaw, how could he lead the resolute Ironborn?

For the sake of Harlaw's longships and his wife from Harlaw, Balon Greyjoy skipped over him.

Next was the lord of Blacktyde, Baelor Blacktyde, whose face was as smooth as a teenage whore, and he even worshiped the Seven Gods of the Reach!

How could there be such guys as leaders of the Ironborn!

Balon Greyjoy's expression became colder, and then he went to examine the others.

House Goodbrother, House Sparr, and House Merlyn of Great Wyk, House Sunderly and House Saltcliffe of Saltcliffe, House Botley and House Wynch of Pyke…

Fortunately, most people still looked like Ironborn, like captains who dared to plunder lords and kings.

Like warriors who followed the Old Way.

In order to restore the Old Way, Balon Greyjoy had tried it nine years ago.

That time he failed, losing all his sons, leaving only his daughter Asha, fortunately, this daughter took the axe as her husband and was more qualified to sail and plunder than many men.

But this time was different.

Robert, who smashed the walls of Pyke, was bitten to death by a beast, the kingdom built by Aegon was divided and hostile, the Reach began to be chaotic, and two little devils were fighting for the Iron Throne.

The Lannisters had failed to get enough loyal allies, and the little brat Renly of that year had a hundred thousand swords.

Ha!

Who would win?

Balon Greyjoy only hoped that these two families would fight each other quickly, bleed dry, and exhaust their strength, preferably killing each other at the same time, just like the twins during the Dance of the Dragons, who forgot what they were called, and died together, leaving only a story.

Of course, Balon was just thinking about it. He would rather personally eliminate the enemy completely, both of them.

Humph! Two arrogant guys.

One little devil wanted him to do nothing and be law-abiding. What did he give? "Warden of the Sunset Sea," an empty title.

Even feeding a dog requires a bone!

The other one was a little smarter, promising the Ironborn to seize land and wealth at will, without having to return it in the future. Of course, he still wanted him to kneel down, serve this noble king, and then give rewards.

Two kings.

Balon Greyjoy chose neither.

The Ironborn did not need alms, they would practice the Old Way, and the Ironborn did not need to kneel to the kings of the Reach, they had their own king!

Balon Greyjoy had prepared the crown.

As the chief reaver of Pyke, the Salt King and the Rock King, the Son of the Sea Wind, he was determined to pay the iron price and seize it himself, just like Urron "Redhand" five thousand years ago.

Who would get the first iron price?

Balon Greyjoy stood up from the Seastone Chair.

"After drinking, gather in my study." He ordered Victarion, Euron, and Asha on the high platform.

"I'm going to announce the plan."

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