The Iron Islands' fleet had navigated waves for years, dealt with pirates more times than some men had eaten salt. They'd learned one truth from blood and fire: attempting to reason with pirates was the most futile stupidity in existence.
So when strategizing the Serpent Isles campaign, Euron and the Iron Islands' lords understood clearly—the Summer Islands' gentle pacification tactics wouldn't work here.
"Complex rules—those pirates who only understand swords and coins won't comprehend them," Euron's finger lightly tapped the chart, as if pressing upon the lawless land's lifeline. His cold smile widened. "They understand only one language—simple, direct, brutal, preferably bloodstained."
Lord Barron grinned beside him, yellowed teeth showing. "Give too many choices, and they mistake it for weakness."
"Three days," Euron's voice remained quiet, sweeping his gaze across all the lords. "We give them three days. Only two choices."
Only sea wind sounds filled the command hall. All waited for the final judgment.
"Submit or die!"
Euron's resolution passed amid thunderous table-striking.
Around the long table, every island lord's fist crashed against wood, the deck trembling—this was the Iron people's ancient approval ritual. The more momentous the decision, the more like tsunami-surge the striking sounds.
Lord Barron's eyes burned with fierce light. He seemed to already see: atop the Serpent Isles' highest reefs, that Bone Crown which once terrorized the Stone Steps would stand again. "Let those bastards see clearly—" he laughed widely, "what true terror means!"
Submit or die!
Three sisters rode the thousand-year dragon Halsien, letting the Iron Islands' proclamation drift from sky, scattering across every pirate nest.
Quickly, the message spread throughout the Serpent Isles. The pirate stronghold resembled ice plunged into hot oil—instantly exploding.
"They really dare do this?" a young pirate shouted in a tavern, gripping his cup. "The fleet arrives in three days—refusing them means genocide of the entire archipelago?"
In a corner, a one-eyed old pirate slowly lowered his wineskin. His salt-etched face darkened. "They dare," his raspy voice silenced the entire tavern. "I witnessed it at the Stone Steps..."
His clouded eye seemed to see that hellish landscape again—two towers constructed from tens of thousands of skulls piercing the clouds, hollow eye sockets gazing at every passerby. Desiccated flesh hung on bleached bone, seabirds nested between skulls. When sea wind blew, those skulls released bone-chilling wails.
"The Bone Crown..." the old pirate's voice trembled. "You'll never imagine the horror when hatred and death forge themselves into totems."
No one spoke in the tavern anymore. Only wine glasses slipped from trembling hands, shattering on filthy wooden floors.
While the Summer Islands' flames hadn't fully extinguished, Edwin Ramirez—Euron's brother, once the Stone Steps' new pirate lord—had quietly returned to the Serpent Isles with trusted confidants.
His subordinates infiltrated each island's dark corners like vipers. In whale-oil-lit gambling dens, in taverns reeking of inferior rum, along docks lined with decrepit sailboats, they spread word of the Iron Islands' imminent arrival in low, certain voices. These battle-hardened veterans of Stone Steps warfare knew best how to make fear take root.
They meticulously described the Bone Crown's details—how salt-corroded skulls wailed in sea wind, how rust-eaten blades gleamed blood-red in moonlight. Every detail was carefully crafted, like sculptors polishing horror into art.
"They built skull towers at Stone Steps..." a one-armed sailor whispered in a tavern corner. Surrounding gamblers forgot the dice in their hands.
As night deepened, these whispers grew clearer. When moonlight reached the Serpent Isles' filthiest alleys, even the most ferocious pirate captains couldn't help gazing toward the dark sea, as if that chilling fleet had already sailed from nightmare into reality.
Fear spread like plague through the archipelago. Edwin's people were the most efficient carriers.
Word of the Iron Islands' imminent arrival spread like pestilence through every shadowed corner of the Serpent Isles. Facing this unstoppable steel torrent, many pirates calculated what seemed a clever countermeasure—avoid the storm.
The docks descended into chaos.
Rope was brutally cut. Ships overloaded with plunder desperately sailed toward open ocean. Seasoned pirates consoled each other: "The Iron fleet can't garrison these broken islands forever. Once the heat dies down, this is ours again!"
Sleek speedboats and bulky armed merchant vessels crammed the channels, fleeing toward three directions: eastward to Slaver's Bay, hoping to vanish into that larger cesspool of vice; northward to the Wild Lands, attempting reinvention in unfamiliar ports; boldest fools sailed westward, seeking new nests in the legendary Shadowlands.
Masts toppled like dead forests. Abandoned cargo and barrels littered the docks. In this panicked exodus, some rammed allies' rowboats, others drew blades over the last freshwater barrel—their current chaos mockingly contrasted with their boasted savagery.
When the last escape ship's canvas vanished beyond the horizon, many Serpent Islands became hollowed honeycombs. Only the most stubborn old pirates remained in taverns, staring at suddenly vacant harbors, finally realizing—even if they returned someday, this sea would never be the lawless paradise it once was.
The Iron Islands hadn't even arrived yet. Mere reputation had caused this century-old pirate nest to crumble without siege.
Euron clearly didn't intend leaving these pirates any margin for survival, nor could he permit future governance complications.
Just as pirates believed they'd escaped death, the real nightmare began.
Those ships entering open ocean met something far more desperate than any Iron fleet.
[Rhino Hippo]—pink nightmare, enormous horn on its brow. Single impact shattered pirate ships into splinters. Its outer plating was covered in hardened keratin, natural heavy armor, completely impervious to blades, axes, arrows.
[Giant Sea Bullfrog]—inflating vocal sacs in ocean depths, its cry wasn't "ribbit" but horrifying sonic waves mixing low and high frequencies, causing violent water tremors, deafening nearby fish and sailors. Leaping from sea, its massive body crashing caused colossal tsunamis and whirlpools, directly sinking pirate vessels. Long tongue coiled struggling pirates into its belly.
[Iron Bone King Crab]—its disproportionately massive pincers gently closing split ship hulls instantly in two.
[Deep Sea Raging Iguana]—biting hull, rotating violently, tearing longships into fragments. Its lower jaw's venom glands secreted toxin directly draining pirate vitality, transforming them into its meal.
[Articulated Sea Centipede]—merely crawling over pirate ships, circling once, its path left every object sliced and torn, numerous pirates skewered on its body-side lance-like legs.
In survivors' accounts, the already-enormous Sea Kings became even more terrifying—nightmare fuel to silence children's crying.