Drawing Lots: Brook's Saber

The brief tour of Harlaw Island ultimately brought him one hundred and sixty points. The haul wasn't particularly generous, but it was within expectations. Firstly, his stay was short. Secondly, although he bore the title of the second son of the King of the Iron Islands, to the deeply entrenched House Harlaw and its people, he was ultimately an outsider to be wary of. There were many corners he couldn't access, and many gazes held scrutiny, which greatly limited his efficiency in acquiring "points."

With the plan to cross the ocean approaching, Yulon needed strength more than ever. With a slight shift of his will, the system interface shimmered, and a full hundred points instantly vanished into the unfathomable vortex of rewards. A chilling cold, perceptible only to him, swept through the depths of his soul, as if the gates of the underworld had briefly opened.

[Acquired -- Weapon: Soul Reaver Sword]

The cold air condensed, and a slender rapier quietly landed in his hand.

The blade was extremely thin, yet it pulsed with an inhuman, ethereal blue cold light, as if forged from millennia-old ice marrow. Its weight was extraordinarily light, feeling like nothing in his hand, yet it maintained a peculiar, perfect balance. This was the sword of the musician and swordsman of the Straw Hat Pirates, one of the Grand Captains of the Straw Hat Grand Fleet, Brook, from another world. Where its edge pointed, it could not only tear flesh but also infuse the chilling cold of the underworld, enough to make enemies despair and wail as their blood froze.

For Yulon, who did not excel in pure strength, this light, peculiar, and deadly magic sword came at the perfect time.

Yulon hung the Soul Reaver Sword at his left hip. It no longer belonged to Brook, so Yulon gave it a name of his own—Cold Spirit. This extra rapier had drawn some attention, but only attention. Baron had playfully drawn it out to try it once, then scoffed dismissively, "A little girl's toy!"

Yulon's gaze swept over the hazy sea horizon outside the window, his fingertips unconsciously tapping on the rough wooden table. "How many months until the winter the maesters at the Citadel predict arrives?"

Lysa didn't even look up, her voice clear and calm. "Three months. The raven post from the North confirms this; the cold winds have already begun to gather north of the Neck."

"Three months... that should be enough time." Yulon stood up, his shadow stretching along the stone wall as he moved. "For the next two months, I want to traverse the remaining islands of the Iron Islands, leaving none unvisited. Father has entrusted me with this important task, and I need to see with my own eyes if their granaries are full, if their roofs are sufficient to withstand the snow, if their swords are sharp—and whether they truly need no help."

He spoke in a steady tone, stating his high-minded reasons. However, deep in his heart, this tour was far more than just showing concern for the common people or fulfilling a duty.

Each island was a chessboard waiting to be played, and every appearance, every promise, even every act of reward and punishment, would be converted into silent chips, accumulating "points" for his Yulon. He needed these points, and he craved the "rewards" drawn from the Pirate King System that came with them. The journey across the Narrow Sea beckoned faintly in the distance, a perilous path filled with unknown storms, strange sorcery, and ruthless enemies. Beyond that vast expanse, any external aid might dissipate like mist; only the strength clenched in one's own hands was the sole reliance for cleaving through waves and surviving.

For the next two months, Yulon Greyjoy's footsteps, following the black hull of the "Hao Yin," crushed every inch of the rebellious seas of the Iron Islands.

This was not a leisurely tour, but a silent storm. The "Hao Yin," like an extension of his will, cut through the lead-gray waves, visiting one rocky, wind-howling island after another.

Despite being only seven years old, not a single lord of the Iron Islands dared to regard Yulon Greyjoy as an ordinary child.

He controlled "Platinum Sand"—not a mere substance, but a source of power far more intoxicating than gold. No one knew the origin of this secret formula, but its blazing white radiance obeyed only his will. Every grain of allocation that the nobles of each island received was determined by his slender fingers; this favor was enough to elevate a family, and its revocation was enough to cast another into the abyss.

All merchant ship routes leading to wealth and plunder, like interwoven threads of fate, ultimately converged at his fingertips. It was he who decided which route would be revealed, which "Old Way" raid could proceed. The strength with which the Ironborn wielded their swords was, in reality, derived from the meticulous plans that operated silently in his mind.

Even more awe-inspiring was that even the unfathomable Drowned God seemed to have crowned him through the mouths of his priests. The priests, amidst the swirling incense smoke before the altars, loudly praised his "miracles," hailing him as a "Son of the Drowned God." Thus, religious fervor and secular authority fused strangely within him.

When the distinctive black sails of the "Hao Yin" appeared on the horizon of any island, the entire territory would instantly enter a state of tense ritual, a mixture of anticipation and fear.

The horns from the watchtowers would sound in a specific rhythm, no longer a warning of external enemies, but conveying a more complex message: he had arrived. The harbor would immediately descend into orderly chaos. The lords would never wait until the ship docked to hastily prepare. They would immediately change into their finest furs or mail, order their servants to sweep the courtyards at the fastest speed, bring out the most prized sour-ale and salted meats from their cellars, and force the foul-smelling, boisterous, and rough sailors to temporarily restrain themselves, forming an honor guard that at least appeared respectful.

Not a single lord would consider this visit a simple courtesy call. In their eyes, the warship gradually coming into focus carried not a child, but a mobile treasury and an invisible scepter.

The welcoming ceremony at the docks was always overly grand, even bordering on clumsy flattery. The lord himself would invariably be present, followed by all the important members of his family and anxious-looking maesters. They wore the most sincere smiles they could muster, but in the depths of their eyes, they were rapidly calculating—why had he come this time? Was it to inspect tribute? To allocate "Platinum Sand" quotas? To reveal the routes for the next season? Or... had he heard some unfavorable rumors?

No matter how full the wine cups were at the banquet, they could not dilute the cautious and probing atmosphere in the air. Every toast was laced with hidden meaning, and every report on the state of the territory was carefully worded. They displayed ample stores of grain and robust warriors not out of pride, but to prove their worth and loyalty, hoping to gain more favor in the subsequent "allocations."

What they feared was not his seven years of age, but the absolute power he represented: the intelligence on shipping routes that could ignite greed and war, the "Platinum Sand" quotas that could determine the rise and fall of families, and the terrifying legitimacy, endorsed by the Drowned God's priests, that bordered on divine right. Every visit from Yulon was a mini-Kingsmoot for them, an assessment of their fate. The object of their bows was a seven-year-old body, but more so, it was the undisputed embodiment of power that controlled the lifeline of the Iron Islands.

He seemed to be fulfilling his duty as the second son, inspecting the territories on behalf of his father, inquiring with concern about grain stores, ships, and preparations for winter. But those sharp, falcon-like eyes measured deeper things—the loyalty of hearts, the price of allegiance, and the depth to which fear could reach.

Of course, for Yulon at this moment, the most important thing was acquiring points that would make him stronger.