Distant Sails -- Golden Kraken

The morning mist, like a grey veil, had yet to fully recede from Pike Island's rugged coastline. The Hao Yin's massive black sails were already filled with the strong wind blowing from the north, like the wings of a giant bird, propelling the slender hull resolutely towards the distant eastern horizon. Two escort ships followed closely, both the most loyal and battle-hardened Ironborn handpicked by King Kolen.

Balfor Greyjoy had been summoned to his brother's room for a private chat last night. They talked for a long time, and after he came out, he too became a member of this voyage.

Yulon had no objections. Having another reliable blood relative was beneficial and harmless.

The journey to the other shore thus began.

His first target was clear and distinct – Braavos, the Free City that stood upon countless canals and secrets.

Choosing it was no accident. For years, through clandestine channels, shrewd investments, and even "cooperation" that could not be refused, he had planted the most eyes and ears, and secured the most loyalty (or at least fear), within the intricate network of that water city. His roots there were the deepest, like an invisible yet tenacious spiderweb, quietly woven in the shadows of Braavos.

It was an ocean of information, a crossroads where merchant ships from all nations gathered to exchange goods and rumors. Every day, countless stories and secrets poured into those labyrinthine docks and taverns with the salty sea breeze. To Yulon, it was the beating heart of the entire world, and he was going there to listen to its pulse, and even... ultimately, to grasp it in his hand.

But the city attracted him for far more than worldly power and intelligence. He had long yearned for the city's soul – the mysterious powers hidden behind the mist and legends.

He longed to witness firsthand, beneath the massive silver dome of the Temple of the Moon Singers, how the priests whispered to the silent night sky; longed to explore the ultimate mysteries of life, death, and devotion behind the unassuming gate of the Hall of Black and White; and even more, he yearned to catch a glimpse of the Faceless Men, the legendary emissaries of the Many-Faced God, to understand their transcendent fear and power.

Braavos, to him, was both a grand strategic chessboard and an ancient tome written in mysterious symbols, waiting for him to discover.

The sea wind was biting, blowing across his heterochromatic eyes. The Hao Yin would cleave through the waves, sailing towards this long journey that would take a full three weeks.

Three weeks of sailing was a time of isolation from the mundane world, but it would definitely not be boring, at least not for Yulon.

The Hao Yin became his mobile academy, and his two tutors – Balfor, with his rich combat experience, and the exceptionally skilled Water Dancer – unveiled the vast world beyond the Narrow Sea for him.

The deck, the captain's cabin, even the pitching forecastle became classrooms. Lysa spread out maps and scrolls, her voice calm and clear, systematically dissecting the subtle political game on the western coast of Essos for him: the power balance between the Governor of Braavos and the Sea King, the hereditary schemes of the Pentoshi governors, and how the suffocating wheel of slavery in Valantis operated.

She explained the composition of the people in various regions – from the shrewd Braavosi magnates and proud swordsmen, to the spoiled noble scions of Pentos, and the pleasure-seeking slave owners of Rhys.

The Water Dancer, Raphael, was responsible for more "down-to-earth" instruction. He demonstrated with elegant movements the particularities of Braavosi attire – how to wear a simple robe to convey different social statuses, how to judge a person's style and even personality by their sword-carrying posture.

He described the local cuisine, from the salty oysters at seaside stalls to the roasted peacock drizzled with honey and poppy milk at noble banquets, emphasizing which table manners were absolute taboos. When the waves subsided slightly, he would spar with Yulon on deck, not only teaching swordsmanship but also analyzing the distinct combat styles and philosophies of different regions in Essos – the ferocity of the Dothraki, the discipline of mercenary groups, and the chilling efficiency of the Faceless Men.

But these were just the overt lessons. In the deeper night, only Lysa accompanied Yulon, lighting a dim whale oil lamp, with the core directory of the intelligence network he had painstakingly built over years spread before them.

The parchment was densely covered with names, codenames, positions, personality weaknesses, leverage points, and prices. He had to engrave into his mind, like a brand, all the information about every collaborator on the other side of the Narrow Sea – the greedy low-ranking Braavosi customs official, the Pentoshi governor's mistress with a penchant for dragon-blooded individuals, the Rhys pirate captain whose family was firmly controlled – just as clearly as he had to know the abilities, loyalty, and contact methods of all his subordinates sent out – the accountants lurking in trading companies, the assassins embedded in mercenary groups, the errand boys in the Temple of the Moon Singers.

This was not just memorization, but a drill. He had to mentally rehearse countless possibilities: how to apply both kindness and pressure when meeting A, which hidden pawn to activate if B betrayed him, how to cross-reference intelligence provided by C with information from D. The sound of the waves was the only accompaniment. His heterochromatic eyes, under the flickering candlelight, repeatedly scanned the names that determined the success of his expedition, transforming them from cold symbols into living pieces extending his will.

On the tenth day of sailing, a gale accompanied by hail struck.

The sea completely tore off its gentle disguise. The lead-grey sky pressed down heavily, and the wind whipped up colossal waves, like countless dark green mountains collapsing and then violently rising, attempting to tear the small toy that was the Hao Yin to shreds. The biting cold was no longer just sea wind but had taken on physical form, carrying hailstones the size of walnuts, smashing furiously onto the deck and sails, making heart-stopping crackling sounds. The world descended into a chaotic roar, the boundaries between sea and sky blurred.

At the peak of this heaven-and-earth's violent power, Yulon, standing at the pitching bow, felt a completely different tremor, emanating from the Abyss.

Through the thick ship planks, through the churning, icy seawater, an ancient, vast, soul-shattering consciousness, like a deep-sea volcano awakening, rudely crashed into his perception.

The bloodline of the awakened Grey King roared! It was not sight or hearing, but a deeper, blood-connected resonance. His consciousness seemed to be forcibly pulled downwards, piercing through ten thousand fathoms of darkness, finally "seeing" the terrifying silhouette coiled upon the endless seabed –

It was a sea monster of unimaginable size, its form identical to the golden kraken totem embroidered on the Greyjoy family banner! Tentacles as thick as castle towers slowly churned the icy water, each covered with terrifying suckers strong enough to snap a keel. Its body was like a moving mountain, and within that shadow, the faint glow of huge, indifferent, inhuman pupils flickered. It was the embodiment of the deep sea, the awe-inspiring totem of Ironborn ancient legends, and now, it truly lay beneath his feet!

A desolate will from the ancient past surged back through the bloodline connection, cold, imperious, yet strangely devoid of malice, more like an inspection, a confirmation of a kindred spirit.

Yulon felt no fear at all; instead, an indescribable surge of power welled up within him. He needed no words; a pure thought was transmitted along this invisible bridge – Help me.

The next moment, the originally violent and chaotic giant waves seemed to be combed by an invisible giant hand. An exceptionally stable and precisely directed undercurrent quietly supported the keels of the Hao Yin and the two escort ships, counteracting the most fatal jolts, like an invisible escort, carving out a relatively stable passage through the destructive storm. The surrounding sea still roared, but only their ships were quietly protected by the mighty power of the totem beast.

This was not taming, but recognition; not magic, but an ancient covenant, more ancient than magic, deeply rooted in bloodline and legend, being reawakened. Yulon Greyjoy stood between storm and shelter, with mortal warships beneath his feet, and beneath them, a mythical beast subservient to his bloodline.

After the storm subsided, the golden kraken extended its enormous tentacle towards Yulon, who also reached out and lightly touched the tentacle. Then, the golden kraken slowly sank into the seabed, leaving only a cheer, as if from antiquity, lingering on the sea for a long time.

The golden kraken had always existed only in Ironborn legends. They had never imagined they would see it with their own eyes one day. Kneeling on the deck, watching Yulon and the golden kraken communicate silently, they wept, unable to calm their emotions for a long time.

Charisma -- The Golden Kraken appeared at your call, regarded as a miracle by the Ironborn. Two hundred and twenty people are willing to offer their lives for you, loyal until death. Your Charisma increased by 1 point. Charisma: 15 points.