After the Faceless Man had pointed out, with almost judicial finality, that Euron's nature ran counter to their path, the dead silence in the hall seemed to gain weight, pressing down on everyone's chest. Yet, the mismatched fire in Euron Greyjoy's eyes did not extinguish; instead, it burned deeper.
Euron did not retreat from being seen through. He took a half-step forward, his voice low, carrying a probing tone that bordered on provocation.
"Since neither transaction nor conversion is a smooth path," he said slowly, staring intently at the messenger of death before him, "is there another possibility? Does the Many-Faced God or His servants... accept friendship? Or rather, can a mortal, through some method, ensure they never appear on your 'delivery list'? Besides cold trade and total self-annihilation, is there no third way?"
His question went beyond simple fear or hiring; it touched the edge of establishing a special connection with this absolute power of death. This was not pleading, but a more arrogant probe, attempting to find a blurred and dangerous third position outside the opposing identities of "employer" and "target."
The Faceless Man who had spoken earlier remained silent, his old-well eyes showing no ripple, as if the question itself was meaningless.
Just then, the shadow on the other side slid open silently like a curtain.
Another Faceless Man stepped out. He wore a hooded robe, the right half black, the left half white, seeming shrouded in an older, more heart-palpitating silence. When he came before the three, Lysa and Dagmer widened their eyes in shock. Beneath the hood, his face was a yellow skull with clinging skin, and a white worm crawled out of one eye socket.
Euron reacted calmly. The Grey King bloodline granted his black left eye the ability to see through all illusions; he could see the priest's true appearance.
He did not look at Euron but walked straight to the deep pool, scooping up a little of the pitch-black water with a bone-white bowl. Then, he turned to Euron and offered the bowl, his movements slow and full of ritual. "Drink." His voice was dry as a rubbing tombstone, speaking the Common Tongue of Westeros.
The Kindly Man, a priest serving the Many-Faced God in the House of Black and White, and the only one there who spoke the Common Tongue. All signs indicated he was the person in charge, or at least the highest-ranking.
Euron's mismatched pupils narrowed slightly. Hesitating for only a split second, he took the bowl and drank the bone-chilling water, which carried an indescribable bitterness and a faint taste of rust. The liquid flowed down his throat like a line of ice dropping straight into his stomach, followed immediately by a strange clarity sweeping over him.
Euron closed his eyes slowly. The cold touch slid down his throat but instantly ignited some inner scorching heat. The surrounding world faded and collapsed rapidly; his consciousness was violently yanked into an endless, suffocating dark ocean.
He felt the bone-deep cold again; the seawater squeezed his chest like giant icy hands, his lungs burning with pain—the despair of struggling and drowning in the "Golden Path" sea area. Then, the cold sensation was replaced by an eerie "resuscitation," as if dragged back from eternal silence by an invisible force. Salty water sprayed from his mouth and nose, and fuzzy cheers of Ironborn for the Drowning Ritual echoed in his ears.
Right on this blurred boundary between life and death, an ancient, seductive whisper sounded directly deep in his soul, like an echo from the abyss itself:
"Death... is the gentlest gift..."
"Death... is the only end to all worldly suffering..."
"Death... is the eternal gate through which mortals find release..."
The voice was ethereal yet possessed the power to pierce the heart: "Are you... afraid of death? Are you afraid... to finally embrace this eternal peace?"
Just as his consciousness was about to sink into the temptation of eternal sleep, a roar erupted from the deepest part of his subconscious, originating from the most ancient pride and unwillingness in his bloodline! It was not a thought, but the most instinctive, fierce roar against fate!
"Valar Morghulis!" His will, like the hardest reef, smashed that hallucinatory whisper. "But my day to die is absolutely not today! Without me, this world would still turn on its trajectory—but because of my existence, it will become unprecedentedly... spectacular!"
BOOM—
As if responding to this rebellious declaration, the [Grey King] bloodline slumbering deep in his veins boiled completely! His heart beat violently like a war drum, pumping scalding blood filled with ancient power with every throb. Faint but clear crackling sounds began to explode in the air around him; weak arcs of blue electricity, like small snakes, appeared out of nowhere, jumping and flickering around his body. A sea breeze rose without cause, swirling his hair and robes, carrying the scent of ozone and the roar of the ocean.
Euron snapped his eyes open.
His right eye remained icy blue, but his left eye—had turned into a pure, bottomless black, as if connected to the abyss of eternal night. It no longer reflected any light but seemed to swallow everything around it, light and sound included.
At this moment, the Faceless Man, the Kindly Man, slowly raised his hand.
In his palm, a rough, ancient, heavy iron coin had appeared. It had no exquisite carving, only a blurred outline of a human skull on one side and a primate-like skull pattern on the other, emitting an incomparably ancient, pure aura of death.
The Faceless Man placed the iron coin in Euron's hand. The coin felt freezing cold yet seemed to burn the skin. "This is not a promise to you, nor protection. This is a... marker."
For the first time, he raised his eyes to look directly at Euron. Deep in those absolutely empty eyes, Euron seemed to see billions of twisted faces flash by and return to silence instantly.
"All men must die, and you are no exception."
The Faceless Man's voice remained steady but carried an unprecedented weight, almost oracular. "But your death... its form, its timing, its meaning, has long been watched by eyes higher than ours. You are not a pawn of fate; you are the unstable core in the eye of the storm. Countless threads of fate tangle, break, and reshape because of you. Take it, remember the taste of this water. When the true 'price' arrives, when there is no other way... perhaps you can find the path back here again."
Having said what needed to be said, the Faceless Man left expressionlessly, as if he had never appeared. The meaning of his words was obscure and profound; he promised no friendship, yet clearly indicated Euron was someone watched by a higher existence—a "God."
A person watched by the Many-Faced God would not become a target for assassination by the Faceless Men serving Him.
Euron carefully put away the iron coin. This coin meant he would not appear on the Faceless Men's hit list—an unexpected gain. No one wanted to be stared at by master assassins all day, and the Faceless Men were the best assassins on two continents.