In Oldtown's harbor district and on Battle Island, the Oldtown garrison tried to form a defensive line.
They relied on warehouses, docks, and crude island fortifications to hold their ground.
The Ironborn leapt from their ships with howls, crashing straight into the defenders in brutal close combat.
The fighting at the outset was fierce. Using the terrain to their advantage, the defenders managed to inflict a measure of casualties on the Ironborn.
However, Euron sent out the loudest-voiced sailors under his command, having them sprint wildly along the coastline, shouting that the Hightower–Redwyne fleet had been completely annihilated, and that Baelor Hightower and Paxter Redwyne had likely already fed the fish.
The news shattered what little resolve the defenders had left.
"Lord Hightower is dead! Lord Redwyne is dead!"
"We've been abandoned!"
The soldiers looked at one another as courage drained from their eyes, replaced by raw fear.
Much of their willingness to keep fighting had come from the belief that a powerful fleet stood behind them. The Ironborn landing might only have been a flanking raid, something that could be endured until the fleet returned to relieve Oldtown.
Now that belief collapsed.
Morale broke in an instant. The line wavered, then fell apart completely.
Weapons were thrown aside. Some soldiers turned and ran, others simply dropped to their knees and surrendered.
Euron stood at the bow of the Silence, his single eye gleaming with savage delight. He raised a hand and gave the order. "Leave no one alive. Plunder Oldtown. Take whatever you fancy. Men, women, children… every drop of blood that can be spilled, collect it for me."
With that command, the Ironborn shed the last traces of restraint, becoming Kraken-like monsters wearing human skin as they unleashed a frenzy of slaughter and pillage.
The harbor district became hell on earth.
Men were cut down. Women were butchered. Children were skewered on spearpoints for sport.
Worse still, the Ironborn did not stop at killing. They carried enormous wooden barrels and leather sacks, meant solely for gathering the blood of the dead.
What blood spilled onto the ground ran together into thin streams, flowing through street gutters and eventually into the Honeywine River.
The river's once-clear waters quickly turned a nauseating dark red. Near the harbor, even the waters of Whispering Sound were coated with a layer of sticky, congealed blood foam.
Euron split his forces in two. One group continued the purge and blood collection throughout the city, while the other surged toward Oldtown's two vital centers: the High Tower and the Citadel.
The High Tower loomed skyward, the symbol of House Hightower and Oldtown's final stronghold.
The remaining Hightower guards and a handful of knights made a stubborn stand, using the black stone foundations and massive tower walls to their advantage. Arrows and boiling oil poured ceaselessly from the tower's windows, keeping the Ironborn at bay for the moment.
The Citadel, meanwhile, suffered a calamity unlike any in its history.
The Ironborn smashed down its gates and flooded into corridors and courtyards packed with books and laboratories.
The maesters became lambs awaiting slaughter.
Clad in their gray robes, they tried to reason with the attackers, only to be answered by pitiless blades.
Ancient scrolls were torn apart. Strange concoctions were knocked over in the laboratories. Screams and roars echoed through libraries and lecture halls alike.
As chaos consumed the city, many commoners tried to flee Oldtown. Dragging their families behind them and clutching what few valuables they could carry, they poured toward the gates and back roads, desperate to escape the sea of blood.
But outside Oldtown, Victarion had already arrived with another force, sealing off every major route of escape.
His task was simple: lock Oldtown down and let no one leave.
He let out a thunderous roar and barked his order. "Stop them. His Grace has commanded it. Everything in Oldtown belongs to the victors. Fill the ships' holds with their blood!"
The Ironborn answered with wild howls and charged into the fleeing crowds.
Oldtown's civilians scattered like startled chicks, falling in swathes beneath Ironborn axes and curved blades.
Fields were stained red with blood. Roads were clogged with corpses.
Victarion watched it all without expression, occasionally stepping forward himself to swing his great axe, cleaving any able-bodied man who tried to force a breakthrough clean in two.
Barrel after barrel of blood was gathered up and sent back toward the fleet in the harbor.
Once the slaughter outside the city was complete and the blockade secured, Victarion led his elite Ironborn warriors into Oldtown, heading straight for the Citadel.
By then, resistance within the Citadel was barely holding together.
He ordered every gate sealed shut, cutting the interior off from the outside world, and then began the final purge.
Any maester found hiding was dragged out and executed on the spot.
During the cleansing of the Citadel, one Ironborn uncovered a black horn deep within its depths. Ancient ice-blue runes were carved into its surface, glowing coldly like glacial ice that had endured for tens of thousands of years.
Victarion ordered the spoils carefully secured and personally escorted them to Battle Island, delivering them into Euron's hands.
When Euron received the horn, his single eye lit up with a crazed smile.
He recognized it at once.
In the cabin of his Silence, there was a horn strikingly similar to this one. His own, the "Dragonbinder," was inlaid with blazing golden runes and was larger than this horn.
By this point, the resistance on Battle Island had already been personally crushed by Euron himself.
The Ironborn stormed the black stone fortress at the base of the High Tower, dragging out every member of House Hightower who had been hiding there and taking them all captive.
Inside the great hall of the black stone fortress, torchlight flickered unsteadily, illuminating the pale, terrified faces of the Hightowers.
Euron wore a crooked, sinister smile as he strolled toward the two most important figures among them.
One was Lord Leyton Hightower.
He was advanced in age, grossly overweight, slumped helplessly in his chair, sparse white hair plastered to his scalp.
His heart was filled with crushing humiliation and deep anxiety over the fate of his house, yet the last remnants of his pride kept him from completely falling apart.
The other was his daughter, "The Mad Maid" Malora Hightower.
Unlike her father's dejection, though she too was a captive, there was a morbid excitement and fierce curiosity in her eyes.
She looked older than her years, her gray-white hair tangled and unkempt, her eyes sunken deep in their sockets yet unnervingly sharp, as though she were always searching for things unseen by ordinary people.
She had spent her life obsessed with magic and the occult. Now, facing the infamous Euron, her fear was strangely laced with a yearning to probe the secrets he carried.
Euron savored their expressions and gave a casual wave of his hand.
Victarion understood at once and ordered the soldiers to drag the remaining members of House Hightower out of the hall. The heavy doors slammed shut, leaving only Euron and Leyton and his daughter inside.
"Lord Leyton, Lady Malora…"
Euron's tone was playful. "I hear the two of you have spent years at the top of the High Tower, tirelessly studying magic. Is that true?"
A faint glimmer flickered through Lord Leyton's clouded eyes. Forcing himself to hold onto his dignity, he rasped, "Greyjoy, if you mean to kill us, then do it. We will tell you nothing. You savage Kraken will never profane the secrets of House Hightower."
"Hahahahaha!"
Euron burst into wild laughter. "Secrets? Do you really think what you're guarding is some mystery no one else has ever known?"
He suddenly drew a dagger, the cold blade gliding lightly across Lord Leyton's deeply lined face, sending a shudder through him.
"During my travels around the world, in Yi Ti and Qarth, I've seen some very ancient histories."
Euron lowered his voice. "Legend says that after the fall of the great empire that once ruled the east, the Great Empire of the Dawn, its imperial bloodline split into several branches and fled across the world. And all of those branches share one thing in common…"
He paused, his single eye locking onto Lord Leyton's suddenly constricted pupils.
"They all carry a… square black stone."