The morning light of dawn painted the sky with a pale, fish-belly white.
Under the morning sun, a merchant ship sailed slowly across the calm sea.
"Thump, thump, thump~"
"My Lord, breakfast is ready."
Old Shag stood outside the cabin, his back bowed respectfully, holding a wooden tray set with dried meat and steaming porridge.
Old Shag's name was given to him by his father.
As Ironborn who had lived on the Iron Islands for generations, his father hoped he would be like a shark in the sea—fierce, domineering, and devouring everything in sight.
But Old Shag had disappointed his father.
Cowardly by nature since childhood, he was not like ordinary Ironborn who went around killing, burning, and looting; Old Shag only liked running trade routes.
He spent years traveling between the ports of the Westerlands and the Iron Islands, earning quite a few Gold Dragons over the decades by reselling goods between the two places.
"Stay calm, don't cause trouble."
This was Old Shag's way of doing business. Relying on these two sentences, he had managed to survive safely to this day.
Meanwhile, the playmates he grew up with were either beaten to death while robbing or starved to death because they couldn't make any money.
Even his father, who was utterly disappointed in him, had died under a knight's sword twenty years ago while boarding a ship to loot.
"I've told you, Shag."
"Don't call me 'My Lord.' I am no lord."
The cabin door opened, and a thin man walked out. Seeing Old Shag bowed so low his head was nearly touching the deck, he shook his head helplessly.
He didn't know how this fellow, who claimed to have grown up in the Iron Islands, could have such a cowardly personality.
The Iron Islands are located northwest of the Westerlands, east of The Twins, and one can reach The North by sailing across the Sunset Sea.
The soil here is barren, the commoners have almost no arable land to plant, and mineral resources are scarce, leading most Ironborn to take up looting as a means of livelihood.
To put it bluntly, they seem like a group of harmless commoners on ordinary days, but they can transform into unscrupulous pirates at any moment!
"My Lord, please have your breakfast."
As if he hadn't heard the man's reminder, Old Shag still respectfully addressed him as 'My Lord,' stepping into the cabin to place the food tray on the table.
Old Shag had a sharp eye. Although the man before him did not wear overly flamboyant clothing, his fair skin and the composed aura in his every movement were things an ordinary commoner simply couldn't fake.
Most importantly, he was very rich!
In Old Shag's decades of business, other than the Lannister lords of the Westerlands, he had never seen anyone spend so generously.
Combined with the fact that the man had boarded the ship at Lannisport, Old Shag judged without hesitation that this person must be a noble from the Westerlands.
What? You say merchants doing big business are also very rich?
True, merchants are indeed wealthy, but in Old Shag's experience, the richer a merchant was, the stingier they became. They wished they could take every advantage in the world and would never spend money as lavishly as the man before him... Seeing that Old Shag remained so respectful, the man didn't bother to explain further. He sat on a stool and began to enjoy the breakfast, which wasn't delicious but was nutritious enough.
To curry favor with him, Old Shag had even thoughtfully prepared a small plate of fruit, which was very precious on a ship.
"Shag, how much longer until we reach the Iron Islands?"
Extending his somewhat pale fingers, Pyke placed a piece of fruit into his mouth, savoring the rare sweet taste found during a voyage.
He hadn't returned to the Iron Islands in who knows how many years, and his memory of the sailing distance had become a bit blurred.
"We have already entered the territorial waters of the Iron Islands, My Lord."
Old Shag had been waiting by Pyke's side like a personal valet, ready at any moment to serve this "great noble" from the Westerlands.
"In another two days, we should be able to reach Pyke Island."
"Pyke Island, huh~"
Hearing this name that was both familiar and strange, Pyke cast a somewhat nostalgic gaze toward The North, as if lost in memory.
That's right, Pyke was originally an Ironborn from the Iron Islands.
Just as bastards in The North are all surnamed Snow and bastards in Dorne are all surnamed Sand, bastards born in the Iron Islands all share the same surname—Pyke!
And when Pyke chose to leave the Iron Islands to become an ordinary commoner in the Westerlands, he discarded his former name. From then on, he called himself "Pyke."
Just as the atmosphere in the cabin grew quiet, the ship suddenly jolted violently.
Immediately after, a burst of noisy shouting erupted outside, disrupting Pyke's thoughts.
The two men exchanged a glance and immediately walked out of the cabin to check the situation.
Old Shag was faster and stepped out first, while Pyke hid himself in the corner by the doorway.
As soon as they came out, they saw a group of men in hempen clothes who had already seized control of all the sailors on deck.
Their weapons were a mixed bag—some held harpoons, others scimitars. They clearly didn't look like professional pirates.
"Ironborn!"
Pyke's pupils constricted slightly. In these waters, only the Ironborn, long known for their ferocity, would dare to rob a merchant ship with such weapons.
"One-Eyed Jamy!"
To Pyke's surprise, Old Shag seemed to know these people. He walked straight toward a one-eyed man who appeared to be the leader.
Old Shag looked at the young girl held captive in One-Eyed Jamy's arms—it was his daughter, Wensa. He immediately stepped forward, shouting in extreme anger:
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Don't forget, this route belongs to Lord Balon!"
One-Eyed Jamy held a three-pronged harpoon, its sharp spikes pressed against Wensa's neck. A thin line of bright red blood flowed slowly down the girl's tanned neck.
"Oh, Old Shag, you really have gone senile."
Licking the Face of the trembling Wensa in his arms, One-Eyed Jamy closed his remaining eye, as if savoring the girl's sweet scent.
The hand holding Wensa captive tightened further, pulling her hard against him as he continuously rubbed against her.
"Tell me, what are the words of House Greyjoy?"
"'We Do Not Sow.' This is our Ironborn way of life."
"Since you weren't willing to marry Wensa to me, then based on the fine traditions of the Ironborn, I had to bring my men to take her myself!"
"You..."
Seeing his arrogant manner, the usually good-tempered Old Shag was actually rendered speechless with rage.
Over the years, by relying on his social skills to please all sides, Old Shag had encountered almost no danger during his trade runs.
Even if he occasionally encountered pirates, as long as he gave the name of King Balon, the other party would give him Face and let them pass after taking a symbolic toll.
The price, however, was that seventy percent of all income from Old Shag's trade runs was handed over to the master of the Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy.
"Aren't you afraid of facing the wrath of Lord Balon?"
Things having come to this, Old Shag could only bring up Balon's name again, hoping the other man would have some reservations.
But reality is always cruel. A figure had unknowingly crept up behind him.
With a "thud," Old Shag felt his vision go dark and he collapsed directly to the ground.
By the time he regained his senses, he found his hands already firmly bound by an Ironborn holding a scimitar.
"You damn old geezer!"
One-Eyed Jamy seemed to harbor great resentment toward Old Shag. He shoved Wensa into the arms of a companion and walked toward Old Shag, cursing with every step. He raised his foot and stomped hard on Old Shag's hand.
"I clearly gave you plenty of Face and went to the trouble of scraping together two Gold Dragons to marry Wensa."
"But you, you arrogant bastard, actually dared to refuse!"
"Did you think your daughter was some noble Young Miss from the Westerlands?"
As he spoke, the foot stomping on Old Shag's hand twisted forcefully back and forth, making him cry out in pain repeatedly.
As if that weren't enough to vent his anger, One-Eyed Jamy spat on Old Shag's Face and turned back toward Wensa.
His large, calloused hand from years of fishing grabbed the girl's tender Face, revealing two rows of black, grime-covered teeth.
"I'm going to fuck this little bitch who's acting all pure right in front of you, and then I'll let everyone have a turn with her!"
"Once she's been played out, you'll have to give me ten Gold Dragons before I'm willing to marry her, Hahaha!"
"Hahaha!"
One-Eyed Jamy's words drew a burst of laughter from the Ironborn on the ship. Everyone cast lewd glances at Wensa, praying in their hearts to be as close to the front of the line as possible.
After all, that was Wensa, the most beautiful woman in the Iron Islands!
"Tap... tap... tap..."
Just as Old Shag was about to fall into despair, the sound of crisp footsteps echoed. A thin figure appeared on the deck at some unknown point, walking slowly toward One-Eyed Jamy.
"My Lord!"
Seeing Pyke's appearance, Old Shag, who was pinned to the ground, forgot his worry for his captive daughter and hurriedly shouted:
"Please, go back and hide in the cabin! This matter has nothing to do with you."
"This is King Balon's sea route; they won't dare kill a Westerlands noble here."
Hearing Old Shag say he was a Westerlands noble, out of fear of the Lannisters, not one of the Ironborn dared to step forward and stop his progress for a moment.
Pyke ignored Old Shag's shouts and didn't even look back at him.
He simply walked with steady steps toward One-Eyed Jamy, his eyes fixed on him with interest, a red light seemingly flashing within them.
"What are you looking at, pretty boy!"
Although he was somewhat wary of the other's status, as the leader, One-Eyed Jamy naturally couldn't lose Face in front of so many Ironborn.
"I'm telling you, I don't care if you're a noble from the Westerlands or not. If someone gets killed out on the vast ocean, no one will ever know!"
"Relax, fellow with only one eye."
Looking at One-Eyed Jamy's blustering facade, Pyke ignored it and simply pointed at the oddly shaped harpoon in the man's hand, acting very interested.
"I just want to make a deal with you."
"A deal?"
Not grasping Pyke's meaning, a sharp light flashed in his single eye as if he'd thought of something.
Licking his dry lips, One-Eyed Jamy immediately made an outrageous demand:
"I know you Westerlands nobles are all rich."
"How about this: give me five thousand Gold Dragons, and I'll take my men and leave immediately."
"No, no, no..."
Pyke shook his head, one hand resting gently on the harpoon in One-Eyed Jamy's grasp. He grinned happily, revealing two rows of sharp teeth that seemed tinged with the dark red of blood.
His voice gradually became hoarse, like a vengeful spirit coming to claim a life:
"The deal I'm talking about is for you to give this thing to me."
"And the price is..."
"Letting me cut off your heads!"
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