Two soldiers—one Ironborn and one man from Winterfell—took a deep breath, gripped their burning torches tight, and were the first to stoop and enter the pitch-black opening.
The stairs stretched downward, seeming to lead straight to the core of the earth.
Euron and Ned exchanged a glance, then followed close behind.
Behind them, seven or eight elite soldiers clutched their swords, crowding nervously at the entrance to the secret chamber, ready for anything.
However, before their eyes could adjust to the darkness below, a stench of rot, thick enough to choke on, hit them like a physical blow from the depths of the chamber. It was a mix of the sickly sweetness of decaying flesh, the acrid tang of ancient dust, and an indescribable, dank mildew unique to the deep underground. It assaulted everyone's nose and throat violently.
The torchlight struggled to push back the darkness, finally flickering to reveal the hair-raising sight in the center of the room—a祭壇 altar carved entirely from black bloodstone, standing grimly in the gloom.
The surface of the altar wasn't smooth. It was covered in deep, natural veins that looked like living blood vessels, glowing faintly with a dark red sheen in the firelight.
Even more disturbing were the dense carvings covering it. They weren't the twin towers of House Frey, but ancient, primitive river runes: twisted patterns resembling two intertwined fetuses, severed umbilical cords, and countless mouths screaming silently in hunger.
On either side of the altar stood a bizarre, burning candle. The one on the left was made of a solidified white fat, rumored to be from the womb of a mare that died in labor. It burned with a sickly sweet smell of milk and rot. The one on the right was clearly molded from human fat mixed with sulfur. Its flame was as green as venom and occasionally let out a heart-stopping hiss.
But the most horrific thing on the altar was the body of a young woman.
Her belly had been cruelly cut open, her entrails barely visible. Her eyes were wide, frozen in extreme fear and pain. Her blood had long since drained away, flowing along the meticulously carved grooves of the altar into a stone blood pool below. Now, the pool was dry, leaving only dark brown stains and the heavy, unshakeable scent of blood that permeated the air. It was a tableau of evil, a desecration of life and the gods.
When the torchlight hit the wall behind the altar, it seemed to be swallowed by an invisible darkness.
Carved into that wall was a massive, twisted relief. The "deity" it depicted was enough to chill the blood of the bravest warrior. It was neither the Seven nor the Old Gods, but an indescribable monster: it seemed to be composed of countless translucent, pulsing umbilical cords. These cords tangled and coiled into the form of a giant python, displaying both the writhing of life and the rot of death.
Standing beside Euron, Eddard Stark's face instantly drained of all color, becoming as pale as winter ice. His clenched fists trembled violently with extreme rage, knuckles cracking. His grey eyes burned with uncontrollable fury and deep disgust. This sight, which blasphemed life and trampled on human decency, completely shattered the knightly code he had been raised with.
Even Euron Greyjoy, usually so indifferent, looked terrifyingly grim. He stared at the bizarre totem and the dried blood on the altar, a chilling guess rising in his mind. He finally understood the truth behind Walder Frey's staggering number of offspring—the descendants he claimed could "form an army." Their prosperity likely didn't come from vigorous vitality, but was inextricably linked to this dark, evil sacrificial ritual.
Torchlight trembled in the oppressive chamber. Not only Ned and Euron, but the soldiers pouring in behind them all gasped in horror when they saw the altar and the umbilical-python god on the wall. Shock was quickly replaced by uncontrollable anger. Some young warriors couldn't help but turn their heads, their stomachs churning.
Ned's voice trembled slightly with extreme rage and grief as he stared at the mutilated female corpse on the altar. He gave a heavy order: "Take this lady... carry her out carefully. Find a quiet place and give her a proper burial."
Euron's eyes were dark enough to drip water. His cold voice held a rare trace of regret born from underestimating an opponent. "It seems rooting out House Frey completely was the right decision. I'm actually starting to regret letting that old bastard Walder die so quickly!"
Intense loathing made Ned want to purify this filthy place completely. He snapped, "Burn this place... burn all of it! Burn it to the ground!"
"Wait." Euron raised a hand to stop him. His gaze turned back to the twisted relief of the evil god, his eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and cold calculation. "Before we burn it, I want to take a close look at exactly what kind of demon or ghost that old thing and his filthy family were worshipping."
Ned nodded heavily. With a heart full of grief and disgust, he turned and left the blasphemous chamber to arrange the poor woman's funeral. Euron gestured for all soldiers to withdraw, remaining alone in the eerie darkness.
When the last footstep faded, the secret room held only the flickering torch and himself. Euron's shadowed black left eye seemed to turn into a bottomless abyss, piercing the veil of time. A fragment of memory belonging to Walder Frey flooded into his mind like a tide—
In the dead of night, Old Walder Frey dismissed all his servants. With fingers like withered twigs, he rubbed an ancient bronze key and tremblingly opened the heavy iron door hidden behind the stone wall of the wine cellar.
Tonight's sacrifice was the young wife of a minor noble, "invited" to the Twins because her husband owed exorbitant toll fees. She was four months pregnant. Drugs kept her conscious but paralyzed, laid out on the cold black bloodstone altar. The tear tracks at the corners of her eyes were dry, leaving only hollow, absolute terror. Beneath the skin of her swollen belly, blue-purple veins pulsed faintly.
Walder shed his robes of power, revealing a shriveled, aged body like a wrinkled tree trunk. Holding a bizarre meteorite iron dagger pitted with corrosion, he began to chant ancient incantations in a raspy voice:
"By the blood of ice..." He cut the woman's left wrist, letting blood drip into a groove on one side of the altar. Strangely, the warm blood instantly froze into frost-like patterns upon touching the bloodstone—a sacrifice of life to the Great Other (Cold God).
"By the essence of fire..." The dagger then pierced her right wrist. As blood dripped into the other groove, it instantly boiled and vaporized with a hiss—a sacrifice of new life to the Red God (Fire God).
"By the bridge of the two rivers..." Finally, he pressed the cold dagger against the pregnant woman's heaving belly, enunciating the core covenant word by word: "Through this body, pass this gate; pay a life, gain a life."
The moment the spell was complete, the natural vein-like patterns on the altar suddenly glowed with a dark light, writhing like a black spiderweb coming to life. The woman's belly heaved unnaturally. Her skin became transparent, revealing the fetus inside being rapidly drained by an invisible force—first the limbs withered like dead twigs, then the torso collapsed, and finally the head turned to dust. Meanwhile, a twisted energy full of vitality flowed along the altar's veins and into the caster, Walder Frey.
The old lord panted, baring yellow teeth, whispering with satisfaction and greed: "Another one... I can have at least... three more sons."
Then, Euron's "sight" pierced the essence of the altar and saw the entity Walder was communicating with—a soul-shuddering reflection of twin faces.
At the focal point of the energy spiral, the sacrificer would see two diametrically opposed faces:
One was extreme infancy: smooth, flawless, like a holy unborn babe. But its eyes were two giant, pure black compound eyes, reflecting all the desire and greed of the sacrificer's life. This face represented "Acquisition."
One was extreme decay: withered, rotten, covered in wrinkles and mold. Its open mouth was a bottomless black hole, emitting not sound, but the soul-tearing sensation of absolute debt. This face represented "Repayment."
These two faces did not exist independently. Their temples were connected by a thick, constantly pulsing blood vessel, symbolizing that "gain" and "loss" were two sides of the same coin.
He was the God of "Life Debt." He did not create life, but traded in life's potential. His domain was fertility, debt, interest, blood contracts, and all unavoidable costs. House Frey's "prosperity" was built on this bloody, cruel equivalent exchange.
The vision dissipated. Euron stood alone in the cold chamber, surrounded by silence and thick darkness. He had finally glimpsed the nauseating truth behind House Frey's prosperity.
When Euron glimpsed the essence of the God of "Life Debt," the phantom of the giant python formed by countless tangled umbilical cords on the altar seemed to suddenly awaken! It writhed its disgusting body, its black-red tongue hissing, its compound eyes locking onto Euron.
A strange voice, acting directly on the depths of the soul, full of temptation and twisted power, echoed in the chamber:
"Believe in me... I can give you countless descendants... prosperity for your house... eternal glory..."
Facing this eldritch whisper, Euron Greyjoy didn't waver in the slightest. Instead, the corner of his mouth curled into a smile of absolute, icy mockery.
"Believe in you? An evil god who only dares to hide in the shadows, stealing lives to linger on?!"
Before his voice fell, the ancient bloodline of the Grey King within him roared to life! The power derived from the Iron Islands' ancestor, who once commanded the sea and storms, surged around him. To the evil god's perception, Euron's body seemed to instantly become immensely tall, like a giant rising from the deep sea, radiating a terrifying pressure.
The double-faced evil god at the core of the umbilical python—the God of "Life Debt"—let out a shrill howl mixed with fear and pain. It tried to struggle, tried to withdraw its power.
But it was too late.
Euron's deep, abyss-like black left eye seemed to turn into a vortex leading to the void, generating an irresistible suction force. The evil god's essence, composed of energy and curses, was forcibly stripped and pulled from the altar totem like fragile spider silk, screaming as it was devoured into that endless darkness.
In but a moment, the blasphemous howling stopped abruptly.
The suffocating, eldritch pressure in the chamber vanished. The blood vessel patterns on the altar dimmed completely, as if they had never glowed.
The Evil God, extinguished!
You have killed the God of "Life Debt."
Obtained 100,000 Soul Points.
Obtained 60,000 System Points.
Bloodline: Grey King Bloodline
1. Ocean Sense Extension: Consciousness can spread like a jellyfish into the surrounding waters. Perceive subtle changes in currents, fish movements, and the approach of large creatures (seals, sharks) within miles without sight. Especially strong in stormy weather, allowing you to "read" the rage and rhythm of the waves.
2. Sea Beast Awe: Large creatures in the ocean will instinctively feel awe or curiosity toward you, rather than attacking. Can command legendary sea beasts.
3. Deep Sea Body: Strength and endurance are significantly amplified in water. Swimming speed rivals the fastest dolphins. The body resists water pressure and cold, allowing dives to depths far beyond human limits while maintaining core temperature and mobility.
4. Bloodline Majesty: Ironborn who worship the Drowned God will feel an awe and obedience stemming from their bloodline.
5. [CHANGED] Divine Devourer: Can absorb the power of deities and convert it into your own strength.
6. Unknown.
...
You absorbed the God of "Life Debt."
Strength +5, Agility +5, Spirit +10.
Euron sensed the cold, strange rule-power flooding into his body—"Life Debt." Its core was simple: the life killed would be converted into pure life energy and stored within the self. This energy could be used to extend one's own lifespan or granted to others.
A thought involuntarily flashed through Euron's mind: "So, I could easily have countless descendants like Old Frey..."
But the thought lasted only a second. Euron glanced at the shattered, lifeless statue of the evil god on the altar behind him, a sneer of disdain curling his lips. "Prosperity" gained through theft and sacrifice was like a tree without roots; it would eventually consume itself.
Euron didn't linger. He turned and slowly walked out of the dark room filled with sin.
Outside, Euron gave a brief order to the waiting Ironborn and Winterfell soldiers: "Get the oil. Pour it in. Burn it."
The soldiers moved quickly, splashing barrels of thick, black oil into every corner of the secret chamber. A torch was thrown in, and raging flames instantly erupted, swallowing everything. The firelight illuminated Euron's expressionless face, and completely reduced the altar, the statue, and every blasphemous thing related to the evil god to ashes.
The soaring fire seemed to be the most thorough purification and end to this dark history.