The Infernal Path

As they prepared to leave the hall, Yulon suddenly remembered someone, someone who might be very useful.

"Father," Yulon's voice was soft, yet it carried an undeniable penetration. "Among the captives brought back by the Hao Yin, there is a merchant from Pentos."

Kolen's brow twitched slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"His name is Mario. He deals in spices and Myr contraband, and he holds some influence in the Pentoshi merchant guild," Yulon tapped his fingers lightly on the table, his rhythm steady. "I want him to be our eyes."

"Eyes?" Kolen's voice was as deep as the abyssal currents.

"The trade routes of the Free Cities, their cargo manifests, their escort configurations... this intelligence is more valuable than the plunder itself," Yulon raised his eyes. The blackness of his left eye seemed to swallow light, while the icy blue of his right resembled a polar region that froze storms. "But a merchant won't easily betray his own city. So, we need to ensure his loyalty."

Kolen's knuckles tapped lightly on the armrest of his throne, his gaze sharp as a knife. "How do you plan to do that?"

A faint smile touched Yulon's lips, revealing a coldness unbefitting his age. "Lysa has a poison called 'Siren's Kiss'." When discussing in the Maester's Tower how to control those who might not be entirely obedient, Lysa had volunteered her abilities beyond her linguistic talents.

"Poison?" Kolen's voice held a hint of scrutiny. "You've taken in a dangerous and mysterious girl."

"Yes, but she is my handmaiden now, and I trust her," Yulon's voice was calm, yet each word was like ice. "'Siren's Kiss' requires an antidote once a month. Otherwise... her skin will fester, her bones will turn to dust, and she will die a more wretched death than a slave in the salt mines."

Kolen fell silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over Lysa, who stood still in the shadows. The handmaiden's emerald eyes were cast down, as unfathomable as the deep sea.

"The poison is only the first chain," Yulon continued. "The second is the Ironborn's blade."

"The Ironborn's blade?"

"Two Ironborn. One will pose as the merchant's guard in plain sight, and the other will lie in wait in Pentos, watching his shop, his ships, his family. If he dares to betray us, he won't be the only one to die. Hidden," Yulon's voice was soft, yet carried an irrefutable ruthlessness. "Merchants value profit, but they fear death even more. Under this double chain, he will be more obedient than the most loyal Ironborn."

A sharp glint flashed in Kolen's eyes. He slowly leaned back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously caressing the rim of his wine goblet.

"Intelligence is more valuable than brute force," Yulon's voice was low. "If we can know in advance which merchant ship carries Braavosi gold, which fleet has weak escorts, which port has lax defenses... our longships can hunt like sea monsters, striking once and returning laden with spoils."

Kolen's lips tightened slightly, his gaze fixed on Yulon's face like an anchor. After a long moment, his deep voice echoed through the stone hall:

"This matter stays within these walls."

His gaze swept over Lysa and Craigon the Maester in the corner, the oppressive pressure causing the old maester's Adam's apple to bob involuntarily.

"Lysa, Craigon, you are the gatekeepers of this secret. If even a whisper leaks out..." He didn't finish, but the killing intent seemed to freeze the air.

Lysa bowed slightly, her posture respectful and silent. Craigon, on the other hand, was pale, his fingers tightly clutching the maester's chain around his neck as if it were his only protection.

Kolen's gaze finally returned to Yulon, his deep voice carrying an almost cruel authorization: "Go. Use your poison, use your Ironborn, and weave this web."

"The men sent to watch him must be agile, clever, and loyal. Father must have suitable candidates," Yulon nodded slightly, a cold sharpness flashing in his heterochromatic pupils. Kolen waved his hand, and after a moment of silence, slowly said, "There is no shortage of such talent among the Ironborn. And Old Wick is more suited to fishing. Daggmo, he can be trusted, and he will be your guard from now on! Give him these tasks, and he will arrange everything."

Yulon blinked in surprise. "He's no longer willing to be the king of the Hao Yin?" -- An Ironborn tradition: every captain is king on their ship.

"He can be king again anytime he wishes, but he is more willing to be your shield and spear, and you happen to need him," Kolen's lips curved upwards. "So, stir up your waves to your heart's content, and let me see what you're capable of!"

"Thank you for your trust, Father!"

The plan had been approved, and it was even more perfect than imagined.

[Discovered Pike Island: Salt Mine Dungeon, Gained 15 Points]

Deep within the dungeons of Pike, dampness and despair writhed on the stone walls like living things. The stench of brine, rot, and excrement mingled, forming a nauseating, thick odor. The dim, flickering light of torches barely pierced the heavy darkness, illuminating rows of rusted iron bars behind which figures curled up like discarded rags. Moans, coughs, and the occasional drag of chains were the only music here.

In a relatively isolated, dark corner, one figure stood out. The brocade robes he wore had long lost their former splendor, becoming dirty and tattered, stained with grime and suspicious dark marks. Several tears revealed the equally expensive lining beneath. But the fine tailoring, the remaining intricate embroidery, and a thread of dull gold at the collar silently proclaimed his former dignity—a merchant from the Free Cities. At this moment, he was curled up on the cold stone floor like a startled shrimp, his last vestiges of dignity stripped away, replaced by bone-deep fear and numb despair. He was the "prey" captured by the Hao Yin over a month ago, now just a vaguely numbered entity on the salt mine roster, a low-class slave likely to be swallowed by the waves at any moment.

Yulon Greyjoy's figure appeared at the end of the corridor, like a phantom from another world. He wore no dark green kraken robe symbolizing his status, only a thick, dark gray cloak that almost blended into the shadows. His hood was pulled low, obscuring most of his young face. Only when he lifted his eyelids did his heterochromatic pupils suddenly light up beneath the hood's shadow, like inhuman cold flames ignited in the darkness. Lysa, like his silent shadow, stood half a step behind him, her emerald eyes dim and unpredictable in the flickering torchlight, like unfathomable whirlpools in the deep sea.

Daggmo stood beside Yulon, one hand on his sword hilt, the other roughly opening the cell door. The grating sound of metal made the merchant on the floor flinch violently. Daggmo's bared jaw made the merchant tremble in terror. When Daggmo stepped aside, the merchant saw that the person standing at the door was a child. His cloudy eyes instantly filled with absurdity and deeper confusion. A child? In the depths of the dungeon? No, he had been on the ship... it was him, the second son of the King of the Iron Islands?

Yulon did not step into that foul place. He stood at the entrance, his gaze beneath the hood like a precise scalpel, meticulously dissecting every line on the merchant's face: the bone-deep fear, the extinguished pride, the residual mercenary instinct, and at the very bottom, a faint, almost instinctual flicker of desire for survival. This desire, like the last spark in a drowning man's eyes, was fragile, yet it was the fulcrum Yulon needed.

"Pentosian?" Yulon spoke, his childish voice clear, yet penetrating like the dungeon's chill, not a question, but a cold statement.

The merchant let out a muffled whimper, nodding subconsciously. His cracked lips moved, but no clear sound emerged.

"Do you know why you are still alive?" Yulon's voice was flat, as if discussing an object unrelated to himself. "Because your tongue is more valuable than your bones."

A complex light, a mixture of shock, confusion, and faint hope, instantly burst into the merchant's cloudy eyes.

"Work for me," Yulon stated directly, without any detours. "Not as a slave, but as... a tool. A tool that can speak and relay messages." He leaned forward slightly, the shadow beneath his hood deepening, only his heterochromatic eyes shining with captivating intensity. "I will let you go back. Back to your silks, your spices, and your gold. You will still be that respectable man in the Pentoshi merchant guild... Mario, right?" He precisely uttered the man's name, a detail that made the merchant tremble violently, as if pricked by invisible ice needles.

"But freedom has a price," Yulon's voice suddenly turned cold, like the north wind. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping to Lysa behind him.

Lysa stepped forward silently, taking a small, inconspicuous leather pouch from within her cloak. Her slender fingers moved with elegant precision, as if performing some arcane ritual. She poured a tiny amount of dark red powder, viscous like congealed blood, into her palm, then added a drop of clear liquid from an even smaller crystal vial. The moment the two substances touched, an extremely faint, yet sickeningly sweet and strange aroma permeated the air. The powder quickly dissolved in the liquid, turning into a dark purple, gelatinous substance that seemed to writhe slightly as if alive. Lysa dipped a silver needle as fine as a hair into it, and the dark purple poison condensed into a tiny dewdrop on the needle's tip, shimmering with an eerie luster.

"Open your mouth," Lysa's voice was as soft as a feather, yet carried an undeniable command.

The merchant recoiled in terror, his body desperately shrinking back, making guttural sounds of resistance. Daggmo roughly stepped forward, his iron-like hand gripping the merchant's jaw, forcing his mouth open. The dark purple drop of poison, shimmering with deadly luster in the torchlight, was precisely flicked by the silver needle deep into his throat. An indescribable pain, a mixture of burning and chilling, instantly spread from his esophagus. The merchant coughed violently, gagged, tears and snot streaming down his face, as if he were about to vomit his insides.

"Don't bother struggling," Yulon's voice was like a judgment. "'Siren's Kiss'. Lysa's masterpiece. It has now made its home in your bloodstream. One month." He held up a small finger. "Before the full moon each month, you must appear at the designated location on time to receive that month's antidote. One day late..." He paused, looking at the merchant's face contorted by pain and fear. "You will watch your skin turn the gray-white of a dead fish inch by inch, then peel off like rotting seaweed; you will feel your blood boiling in your veins, as if molten lead has been poured into them; finally, your bones will become brittle from the inside out, shattering like weathered reefs at the slightest touch." Every detail he described was like a cold blade, cutting into the merchant's nerves.

"No... don't..." The merchant collapsed on the ground, as if all his bones had been removed, his breathing sustained only by instinctual fear.

"The antidote is a gift," Yulon continued, his voice returning to its cold calm. "And your 'loyalty' will be supervised by the Ironborn of Pike. They will watch you like seagulls watching dead fish on the shore. Your shop, your fleet, your mistress... everything you cherish will be within their sight. Any act of disloyalty," his voice dropped to freezing point, "will not only result in your own agonizing death, but everything you hold dear in Pentos will turn to ash in Wildfire. Believe me, the wrath of the Iron Islands is faster and more thorough than Wildfire."

The naked control of poison, combined with the omnipresent shadow of the Ironborn, formed a double-insured net of death. The merchant looked at the child calmly administering torture in the grim dungeon, his heterochromatic eyes devoid of any emotion, only the coldness of absolute control and the indifference of one who understood human nature. He felt his soul freeze under that gaze. Refuse? Immediate hell. Agree? Stepping into an endless abyss of enslavement by poison and violence. Under extreme fear and the desperate hope for a sliver of survival, that once proud head finally nodded, heavily and despairingly.

"Very good," Yulon's voice was devoid of any emotion. "Lysa will tell you the contact method, the location of the first antidote, and... the first 'rumor' you need to spread when you return." He turned, his dark gray cloak cutting a decisive arc through the damp dungeon corridor, leaving behind the merchant, completely hollowed out, gasping violently in the filth. The air was filled with the lingering sweet scent of poison and a despair of complete submission, more pungent than the smell of the sea.

The Free City merchant, Mario, would be Yulon's first pawn, but not the last. In the near future, every important port would be filled with Yulon's eyes.