Birdsong and frog croaks filled the quiet rainforest.
Theon Greyjoy stared intently at a certain spot in the void, his expression shifting with complexity.
This was the fifth day since departing Rain House City.
He had just received one piece of news and two appointments from the Throne.
The Divine Grace Light Screen flickered.
Theon clearly realized that it was all true: one piece of news, two appointments.
The news made him tremble all over and his head spin.
His father, King Balon of the Iron Islands, whom he hadn't seen in nearly ten years, was dead!
Balon Greyjoy was dead!
He had been assassinated by a hired killer, arranged by Euron "Crow's Eye," who was about to return to the Iron Islands!
Thinking of his second uncle Euron's Silence, the terrifying sail shadow of that narrow red ship, and the malicious black eye under the eyepatch.
Theon had no doubt about his madness and ruthlessness.
Kinslaying? What did that matter to Crow's Eye? He was Crow's Eye, after all.
In any case, his father was dead.
Even though he had personally sent him to the Starks as a hostage, even though they hadn't seen each other in ten years, even though the letters he sent to Winterfell were few and cold.
After all, his father was dead.
Theon felt his heart filled with sorrow and grief, as well as the anger and strength of revenge.
Yes, grief and anger.
This was how he explained his uncontrollable trembling and the hands tightly gripping his sword hilt.
It was absolutely not because of those two appointments.
Theon shifted the Divine Grace Light Screen, looking at one appointment for a moment, then the other.
He found it truly difficult to choose.
Both appointments were produced by the Secretariat, bearing the seal of His Majesty the King, their authenticity and efficacy unquestionable.
One appointment was for "Duke Greyjoy," or "Governor of the Iron Islands."
The other appointment was for "Guardian of the Sunset Sea," or "Lord Commander of the Royal Fleet's Sunset Sea Fleet."
Theon could only choose two of these.
Both appointments were surprises, and both were perplexing dilemmas.
Duke Greyjoy.
This was the position Theon had dreamed of inheriting.
Theon also knew that His Majesty the King had clearly redefined the system of noble titles. Status was no longer determined by strength or the Liege Lord one served.
Duke, Marquess, Earl, Viscount, Baron, Quasi-Lord, Knight, Citizen.
This was the updated system of noble titles by His Majesty the King.
Each level of nobility enjoyed considerably generous treatment and privileges. The higher the title, the more glorious, the more likely one was to be given important responsibilities, and to share in Divine Grace.
To date, there were only five Dukes recognized by the Throne.
Tywin Lannister, Hoster Tully, Eddard Stark, Robert Arryn, Doran Martell.
The traitors Renly Baratheon and Mace Tyrell had been stripped of their titles.
And Doran Martell of Dorne had always enjoyed the title of "Prince," and his attitude was still ambiguous, which clearly displeased King Joffrey deeply.
In other words.
If he accepted the title of Duke, Theon would become one of the six Dukes in all of Westeros.
Duke Theon Greyjoy, Duke Eddard Stark.
Thinking of Stark's stern face and that terrifying greatsword, and then trying to place his own name alongside Lord Eddard, Theon immediately felt a surge of inner satisfaction.
He almost clicked on the "Duke Greyjoy" appointment immediately, fulfilling his wish of over a decade and returning home in glory.
But the "Governor of the Iron Islands" on the next line reminded him that times had changed.
Theon was not stupid.
He could guess the true intention behind the King's establishment of the Governor position.
Right there in Rain House City, Theon had personally witnessed a struggle for power transfer. The King, like a storm, tore apart his tangible and intangible opponents, easily achieving victory.
Who was the master of Rain House City?
Governor Ser Garth Wild.
Who controlled the Governor?
The King.
Theon looked at "Duke Greyjoy" again, gradually shifting his gaze to the next line.
Governor of the Iron Islands. This would be an important and difficult position. The Ironborn captains would not easily submit, and there would be many challenges...
"Ser Theon, are you alright?"
The voice beside him interrupted Theon's thoughts. He looked with displeasure at the source of the sound.
The fair-skinned man with brown curly hair smiled like a whore soliciting customers. He wondered if the pretty armor could withstand a single hammer blow.
Damn it, he probably doesn't even have to pay to sleep with women.
Hmph, who cares.
Theon curled his lip in disdain.
"I'm perfectly fine, just want to kill a few hundred people and capture Mistwood. As for you, make sure you survive later, Adam."
This fair-skinned man was Adam Whitehead, the heir of Weeping Town.
The fleet's actions in Weeping Town were peaceful.
Earl Whitehead was an old man who could barely walk, and the guards of Weeping Town had no guts to resist the powerful fleet.
Afterward.
The old man's eldest son, Adam, voluntarily joined the fleet and acted together with his Seventh Regiment.
Adam Whitehead seemed to not have heard the provocation in Theon's words at all, his face even showing surprise and gratitude.
"Thank you for your concern, Ser Theon."
"Ser and the warriors of the Royal Guard are so powerful. We didn't suffer a single injury in the battle at Ravenry. I believe Mistwood won't be any more dangerous."
Adam showed deep trust and awe.
Theon didn't say anything more, "Let's hope so. Now keep quiet and wait for my order."
Adam nodded obediently.
Theon was quite pleased with Adam's behavior, but occasionally felt inexplicably annoyed, as if he had been tricked by this guy.
Perhaps it wasn't an illusion.
Theon knew that most southern nobles were like this, full of praise while secretly plotting.
They should have plundered Weeping Town!
Kill a few sers!
Theon sometimes couldn't help but secretly complain about Barristan Selmy, who was too lenient towards traitors.
At Greenstone, Weeping Town, and Stonehelm, the overall commander of the army, Barristan the Bold, didn't seem bold at all. He just waited for the castles to send out ravens, then persuaded them to surrender or sent troops to control them.
His own people, the enemy, no one's blood was shed.
Who could this deter?
How could it inspire awe?
Theon's Seventh Regiment was completely useless, just charging straight through. They didn't even need to display Divine Power; their numbers alone were enough to make the guards drop their weapons and surrender.
Fortunately, this wasn't permanent.
The two sides began to split up at the Slayne River.
Ser Barristan led his team westward into the interior, while Theon's Seventh Regiment went north along the Slayne River to raid Ravenry, and then eastward to capture Mistwood.
At Ravenry, Theon's Seventh Regiment finally had a chance to show its worth.
Steel flew, fire danced wildly, steam erupted, earth and stone changed form, bodies were impervious to blades, wounds healed instantly, and there were bright flashes and loud noises.
Considering the orders and military discipline of the Royal Guard, Theon did not completely reduce Ravenry to ruins.
But in the end, only a few distant relatives could inherit Ravenry from the Mullendore family. The original Earl Mullendore and his children had all died in the battle.
Was this a good thing or a bad thing?
Theon only knew that his evaluation for this mission had not decreased, and his points were all accounted for.
Some things didn't need to be said explicitly, didn't need encouragement.
Not punishing was the answer.
At that moment.
Theon looked around. The city walls were broken. The shadows of Pyke and Winterfell seemed to flash by, and he vaguely heard the sound of something shattering, like shackles, like crystal, like steel.
In a trance, he looked at the collapsing castle.
His heart was filled with dread.
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