"Lord Storm God, please don't abandon me. I still have a chance. I can offer you even more sacrifices," King Euron pleaded urgently.
"What chance do you still have?" the Storm God mocked.
"As long as you're willing to help me, I can end the Long Night and save the world. I know the story of Azor Ahai and R'hllor.
If I kill the King of the Others, I will become the savior. And you, you will become a great god like R'hllor!
Your church will spread across the world just like the Red Temple, with millions of followers," Euron said quickly, making his wish.
"You insult me!" the Storm God roared in anger. "That fool R'hllor lost the Song of Fire, and now has lost the Song of Light as well.
First defeated by Balerion, and now falling to Daenerys. The same story repeats again and again.
And now he can't even maintain the status of a true god. You want me to become him? Or are you trying to imitate Balerion and usurp my position?"
"But the Red God has many followers," Euron said awkwardly.
"Does a true god need followers? As my chosen son, don't you understand my doctrine?" the Storm God sneered.
The Storm God's doctrine was to torment believers, to set traps and guide the Ironborn toward destruction.
"You said that saving the world would earn rewards from the origin of the universe. That's why R'hllor has been tirelessly promoting the 'Asshai Prophecy,' to become the savior once again. When I end the Long Night, you can seize his reward."
In his desperation to survive, Euron began to speak without restraint.
The Storm God laughed coldly. "Are you joking? An Ironborn who saves the world is no longer Ironborn. Ironborn should burn, kill, and plunder, committing every evil imaginable.
Something as proper as saving the world is not your role. It also goes against my doctrine and that of the rotten fish god.
The Long Night is long and dangerous everywhere. We Ironborn take advantage of misfortune, strike when others are down, and make this world darker and more perilous!"
"I can do that," Euron said hastily. "Making the world darker and more dangerous is my specialty!"
"Heh, as long as the Ironborn endure, my path will not be lonely. But right now, I want to watch you walk toward destruction. Perhaps your brother Victarion can inherit your will," the Storm God said with a grin.
"Fuck you! I curse your ancestors! Bastard, I'll be waiting for you in the seven hells!"
Like all those Ironborn who had once been tempted and then abandoned by the Storm God, Euron cursed him wildly at the end of his life.
The more intense his reaction, the more delighted the Storm God in the sky became.
The followers of evil gods spend their entire lives offering sacrifices: blood, death, and all living things of heaven and earth.
In the end, they all make one final sacrifice—offering themselves to the god they worshipped their entire lives.
At this moment, Euron was pleasing his god exactly as the Storm God wished, using his despair, anger, and fear.
"Long live the Storm God!"
"Storm God bless us!"
"Long live King Euron!"
"Storm God sweep away the corpses!"
"O Storm God above, you are the savior of the Long Night!"
As Euron vented the final emotions of his life, the hundred or so Ironborn on sleds and snowfield horses suddenly turned toward the rear, waving their arms and cheering loudly.
Confused, he turned back and was shocked to see, a few hundred meters away, a massive gray-black wind pillar piercing the heavens and the earth.
The tornado twisted across the snowfield like an intelligent vacuum cleaner following scraps of paper, sucking the wights on the ground into its maw one by one.
Could it be that the Storm God spoke harshly but acted otherwise?
Just as Euron felt a surge of joy, the Storm God's furious roar came from above his head:
"Impudent! A mere mortal dares to seize my wind. Ah, the Song of Wind, the domain of wind. Damn it, my divine storm power is slipping away!"
"No! I am a true god, the God of Storms. How can my control over wind be inferior to a mortal?!"
Amid the Storm God's wails, Euron saw the hurricane swirling above his head disappear.
No, it didn't disappear. It unraveled into strands, drifting backward and finally merging into the raging tornado in the distance.
It was like a star radiating boundless light, vast and sacred, nourishing an entire system, yet still being devoured like greasy smoke beneath a range hood when it encountered a black hole.
"The Song of Wind…" Euron froze for a moment, then suddenly understood. "The Dragon Queen has arrived."
"Long live the Dragon Queen!" He wanted to shout it, but reason told him that encountering her here was definitely not a good thing.
The outcome was worse than he imagined.
The tornado behind suddenly accelerated, sweeping across the surface like a razor. It scraped away the wights on the snow and also harvested the Ironborn, who shifted from cheering to shock.
Euron felt the world spin violently. After an unknown amount of time, a chilling sensation flashed through his arms and thighs. The intense pain came late, but when it arrived, it was overwhelming, like a tsunami that drowned him instantly. His vision went black, and he lost consciousness.
Before fainting, he seemed to hear the Dragon Queen's mental shout: "Wind spirit, where do you think you're going!"
Wind spirit? Could it be the Storm God?
That was his last conscious thought.
When he woke again, his first thought was not where he was or what had happened.
Instead, it was: why was the child in front of him staring at him so viciously?
Only then did the dull pain and weakness from his limbs reach him. In horror, Euron realized he could no longer feel his arms or legs.
Turning his head, he looked around. It seemed to be a drafty thatched stable.
He lay on a pile of moldy, damp straw. Where his strong arms should have been, there were now blood-soaked linen wrappings around his shoulders.
The familiar scent of herbs mixed with blood drifted into his nose.
His arms had indeed been cut off. Most likely, his legs, which he could not feel, were gone as well.
"Awoo…" An unprecedented despair surged in his heart. Euron howled and cursed, "Daenerys, you hypocritical saint, the true devil. Give me back—"
Smack!
The child kicked him in the mouth, cutting off his howl.
Euron turned his head, his eyes vicious. He began chanting an evil spell, but in the next moment, it felt as though an axe had split his mind. The sharp pain forced a groan from him.
The warlock's magic had vanished again. The divine power of a Storm God priest had also dried up. His mind felt like cracked earth after ten years without rain, unable even to gather mental strength.
After a long while, Euron recovered enough to ask the child, the only one with him in the shack, "Who are you?"
Bang!
At his words, the child's eyes grew even more resentful. With reddened eyes, he kicked Euron in the temple again.
Euron's expression twisted, his gaze sharp as blades, as if to pierce the child's brow, throat, and heart. Then his malicious expression froze, and he said uncertainly, "Is this Longtable Hall? Are you Tania's son?"
The boy looked about eight or nine, with black hair and black eyes, slightly thick lips, bearing a resemblance to one of Euron's former lovers.
Seeing the family crest on the boy's black velvet coat trimmed with gold, Euron confirmed his guess.
It was the sigil of House Merryweather: on a black field, a golden cornucopia overflowing with apples, carrots, plums, onions, leeks, turnips, and other colorful produce.
"You killed my father and dishonored my mother," the boy accused, his voice trembling with tears.
Euron's eyes flickered as he softened his tone. "Daenerys is lying to you. She killed your parents. Your mother was my lover, and your father was my friend. They were my right and left hands. Why would I harm them?"
"You're lying." The young Lord Merryweather kicked him again.
"I'm not lying. Truly." Euron curled up like a silkworm and glanced outside. Soldiers and servants were busy moving about.
"Where is Daenerys? While she's not back yet, have someone take me—" He hesitated. "Take me to Highgarden by sled first. She hasn't gone to Highgarden, right?"
"She's been hunting wights these past few days. She just returned," Daenerys said with a smile as she walked into the stable.
"Greetings, Your Majesty." The young lord quickly wiped away his tears and ran forward to bow skillfully.
Euron stared at her blankly, then said hoarsely, "What do you intend to do with me?"
Daenerys removed her helmet and held it in her left hand. Her silver braid fell over her blue breastplate. She smiled at the boy before turning to Euron. "What else but a fair and just trial?"
"Before the trial, you cut off my limbs," Euron said venomously.
"You should be grateful. Aside from you, all the Ironborn were chopped into pieces," Daenerys said with a smile, though her words were chillingly cold.
Euron had originally intended to demand the treatment of a noble prisoner, but upon hearing this and seeing her attitude, he understood that today would not be like their first encounter on the Shivering Sea, where he had been given a chance at redemption.
With no hope of survival left, his attitude became casual.
He looked at the young lord with malicious delight and said, "Do you know how your mother died? That slut was sent by me to the army camp, where thousands of men—"
Bang!
Daenerys's mud-stained silver boot slammed hard into the place where his manhood once was.
"Ahhh—" Euron's pale, scarred face flushed red.
"Behave yourself. Your end is fixed, but there are countless ways for you to die."
After that, Daenerys called several knights. They stuffed Euron into a wooden box lined with straw, left it uncovered, and carried it outside.
The knights and servants outside the shack all looked at him with hatred.
Euron remained indifferent, completely unconcerned with their attitude, only turning his head to observe his surroundings.
Contrary to his expectations, they were not inside Longtable Hall. This was a snowfield covered with chaotic footprints. Around them were rows of thatched huts, half-buried in snow, seemingly abandoned stables.
Snow was falling from the sky, yet a small sun illuminated the surrounding few kilometers.
Civilians in ragged fur coats pushed sleds, picking up chunks of flesh from the snow and placing them into bamboo baskets. Farther away, a squad of knights patrolled on horseback.
Euron gradually understood. This was the battlefield where they had encountered the wights, within the lands of House Merryweather. The Dragon Queen had summoned the people of Longtable Hall to clean up the battlefield.
"Heh, you've fallen this far too." A familiar voice full of satisfaction sounded nearby as the knights placed him onto a sled.
"Euron? You're still alive?" Euron said in surprise.
He tilted his head, but the wooden box blocked his view.
"Why do you think you've been turned into a human swine?" the voice sneered maliciously.
"What do you mean?" Euron asked coldly.
"Because Daenerys saw us in the storm, she got furious and cut off your limbs. The medicine used to treat your wounds was even one you made yourself," the voice said with a laugh.
Euron's expression shifted several times. "You all survived? What about Pyat and Margaery?"
(End of Chapter)
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