The Iron Islands at dawn were like a shy young maiden, exposed without concealment under the sunlight.
The Ironborn, who had lived here for generations, took advantage of the rising sun to hoist their sails and set out in boats of all sizes to begin a new day's labor — fishing.
Indeed, the soil of the Iron Islands was far too barren, leaving the people with no tillable land to plant; the Ironborn toiled all day, yet all they obtained was cheap iron Ore.
Despite this, they had for generations followed the words of House Greyjoy, "We Do Not Sow," which meant that anyone here could become a raider the moment they picked up a weapon.
However, ever since Balon Greyjoy lost his rebellion to House Stark and sent his only son to Winterfell as a hostage, even the most ferocious Ironborn had to keep a low profile.
To the east of the Iron Islands, a vast range of steep mountains served as a natural barrier between them and the relatively fertile Riverlands; unable to sail over the mountains, these raiders could only stare longingly at the land, salivating.
And to the west... the famous "the rains of castamere" was something even a three-year-old on the continent of Westeros had heard of; they wouldn't dare cause trouble in the Westerlands even if given a hundred times the courage.
A dignified pirate kingdom had actually fallen to the point of having no one to rob; the Ironborn could only obediently rely on going out to sea to fish every day to make a living.
Fortunately, the waters around the Iron Islands were quite rich in fish, and since the wealthy Westerlands only used seafood as a supplement to their daily diet, fishing allowed them to barely survive... "Shag, you damn fellow!"
At Lannisport, Old Shag, who had just completed another business deal and returned to Pyke Island, was calling his sailors to furl the sails and prepare to head home for rest when he heard a burst of shouting.
Looking up, he saw a black-haired man wearing a gilded breastplate embroidered with a silver school of fish on a pale green background walking toward him, cursing, followed by three to five guards holding longswords and axes.
"Oh, dear Lord Sigfryd, what wind has blown you here?"
Seeing the furious Sigfryd Botley, who looked like he was looking for trouble, Old Shag quickly forced a smile and went to meet him.
"I told you to transport goods to Lannisport, and you said it was either windy or raining!"
"It's been half a month; do you think you're going to Essos?"
Sigfryd pointed angrily at Old Shag, whose smile looked worse than crying, his flying spit nearly hitting the old man's face.
At that moment, a burly sailor working on the ship heard the commotion, jumped off the boat, ran over, and fearlessly pointed back at Sigfryd, retortng:
"Hey, you should have said so earlier! If I had loaded it onto a large ship and sailed openly into Lannisport, it would have taken only two or three days!"
"Now that we have to smuggle using small boats, of course it takes two or three weeks!"
As the brother of Sawane Botley, the lord of Lannisport, Sigfryd had never been pointed at and scolded like this, even among the notoriously defiant Ironborn; the veins on his forehead bulged as he was about to explode.
But the other party had a point; that batch of goods was truly not easy to move, and in all of Lannisport, only Old Shag's fleet dared to take it on.
Furthermore... Sigfryd squinted at Old Shag, who had a fawning smile but little respect in his eyes. This fellow was clearly just a cowardly old thing, but ever since returning that day, he had found a powerful backer and even formed a merchant fleet of over twenty ships.
Wary, Sigfryd could only roar with blustering rage:
"What, the big one won't come out so he lets the little one take the heat? Call Pyke out here!"
As soon as he finished speaking, a figure suddenly lunged out from the seawater. Before anyone could react, Sigfryd took a heavy kick to the chest and was sent flying backward.
Struggling to crawl up from the ground, he saw the lean Pyke standing before him, his clothes and hair soaking wet, seawater dripping down continuously.
He held a weirdly shaped harpoon in his hand, looking down at Sigfryd with an arrogant expression:
"This is how we do things. If you don't like it, get lost and wait for me at home."
"fuck!"
Feeling the sharp pain in his chest, Sigfryd knew he had likely broken a rib. He turned to look at the guards he had brought; they were all looking down in fear, not daring to meet Pyke's eyes. He cursed them as useless in his heart.
"Fine, Pyke. You dare offend House Botley in Lannisport? You just wait!"
Despite his rage, the terrifying legend of the ghost of the bloodport kept him from easily attacking Pyke. He could only give a thumbs-up with false bravado and call his men to carry him back... "Did we offend him too much, My Lord?"
"This is House Botley's territory, after all."
Once they had left, Old Shag walked respectfully to Pyke's side and asked with some concern.
Pyke glanced at Old Shag. Although he had told him many times not to call him 'My Lord,' this old fox simply wouldn't change his ways, so Pyke just let it be.
"It doesn't matter. If they dare to act, tonight I will make House Botley's blood flow like a river and drag them all into the sea!"
"Besides, Sawane is a cunning fellow. Even if we swallow his goods, he will likely just swallow his pride and hesitate to act."
Pyke gazed coldly at the small castle in the distance flying pale green banners, calculating in his heart that the day he replaced them wouldn't be far off.
Over these days, following Arthas's instructions and using Old Shag as his spokesperson, he had been continuously expanding his influence in the Iron Islands.
Relying on the powerful killing ability of the shadows, any Ironborn who dared to move against his merchant fleet would vanish without a trace. People would only see the port dyed red with blood the next morning.
The Ironborn on Pyke Island also came to know that a bastard who had discarded his name and taken 'Pyke' as his own was not to be trifled with. Through word of mouth, they gave him the title 'ghost of the bloodport.'
With his current power, even Sawane Botley, who ruled Lannisport, probably wouldn't dare move against him easily.
"Kid, you did well just now. What's your name?"
Pyke glanced with satisfaction at the burly sailor beside Old Shag and asked him calmly.
"My name is Rees Pyke, My Lord!"
The tall sailor straightened his chest and reported his name loudly to Pyke, as if it were a matter of great honor:
"As you can see, I am also a bastard!"
Rees Pyke looked with reverence at the lean man before him who had driven away the high-and-mighty Sigfryd Botley without any effort, thinking to himself that he had indeed come to the right place.
In fact, it wasn't just him; almost all the bastards named Pyke on Pyke Island, hearing that a powerful leader named Pyke had formed a fleet, had come flocking in hopes of making a name for themselves under his leadership.
Because of this, Pyke was also jokingly called the 'King of Bastards' by the Ironborn!
Don't think that calling oneself a king in the Iron Islands was some great act of treason; the people here were fierce, and although their population was the smallest among The Seven Kingdoms, they held themselves in high regard.
In the history of the Iron Islands, every small island had once been a kingdom, and some even believed that the captain of every longship was a king. Thus, the Iron Islands were mockingly called the 'Land of Ten Thousand Kings' by others.
Even Balon Greyjoy, who had tried to usurp the iron throne with the power of just one island, shamelessly called himself 'King Balon' after his failure.
To put it bluntly, although these fellows from the Iron Islands had strong naval combat capabilities, they were actually a bunch of raiders who hadn't seen much of the world. Living on small islands for generations, they could hardly imagine the formidable military power of Westeros.
It was only after the North and the West gave them a severe beating that these fellows showed a bit of restraint.
"Very good, Rees Pyke."
Pyke reached out and patted Rhys on the shoulder. Over these days, Pyke had gradually developed some leadership qualities, a world away from the small man who had wept bitterly after losing his wife in the Westerlands.
"Work hard with me. When the time comes, we'll establish a 'House Pyke' and let us bastards, who have been looked down upon, take down the Greyjoys!"
The leader's recognition and encouragement made Rhys straighten his chest again, a fiery emotion spreading in his heart, just waiting for the day it would explode.
"My Lord, look at that person over there..."
Just then, Old Shag leaned in and pointed at a small boat slowly docking at the port, from which a slender youth with brownish-black hair disembarked.
He wore a maroon embroidered silk robe and carried a longsword with an incredibly ornate scabbard at his waist, looking every bit like a wealthy noble Young Master.
Most importantly, a Direwolf was embroidered on his chest!
"Is he from the North?"
Looking at the youth's appearance, Pyke frowned and murmured. Recently, the conflict between the North and the West had spread throughout Westeros. Anyone could guess what it meant for the North to send someone to the Iron Islands at this time.
"No, My Lord!"
At this point, Rhys spoke up in surprise:
"That's Theon, Theon Greyjoy, Balon Greyjoy's only son!"
"What?"
Turning his gaze to Rhys, Pyke asked with some confusion:
"Are you sure, Rhys? Wasn't this guy sent to Winterfell as a hostage many years ago? Why would House Stark let him return alone at a time like this?"
"There's no mistake!"
Rhys answered with absolute certainty, a hint of resentment in his surprised tone:
"When I was young, I served as a page for House Greyjoy and looked after him for a while, before I escaped during Balon's failed rebellion.
"This damn guy's favorite hobby as a kid was using us pages as live targets for archery practice. I'd recognize him even if he turned to ash!"
Hearing Rhys's certain reply, Pyke squinted and looked playfully at Theon, who looked like a Northern noble. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, his mind plotting something unknown.
After a short while, he waved Rhys over and whispered a few words in his ear. Rhys's expression shifted repeatedly before finally settling into a sinister grin.
Once Pyke finished speaking, Rhys, having received his orders, nodded and strode toward the seemingly self-satisfied Theon... "Theon Greyjoy..."
"This time, I will definitely let you know what true cruelty is!"
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