"Hao Yin"'s First Battle

The twelfth day at sea.

The scorching midday sun baked the deck of the Hao Yin until it was hot, and the tar between the wooden planks sizzled. Yulon was crouching at the bow, observing the cloud formations using a method Daggmo had taught him, when suddenly the lookout's caw echoed from the crow's nest: "Sail ho! Thirty degrees to port!"

Yulon looked up sharply. In the distance, on the sea, the gilded figurehead of the Silver Swan gleamed blindingly in the sunlight. He squinted his mismatched eyes, his left black and his right ice-blue, and simultaneously detected something unusual: the Braavosi merchant ship was sitting too low in the water, and the chaos on deck seemed too deliberate.

"Prepare for boarding!" Baron's roar was filled with bloodthirsty excitement. He ripped off his leather armor, revealing a chest covered in scars, his longsword glinting coldly in the sun. The Ironborn around him grabbed their weapons, axes and harpoons striking the deck in a heart-pounding rhythm.

A sharp pain suddenly shot through Yulon's fingertips. His blood instantly boiled, and the original plot from his memory surged like a tide. He remembered the trap commonly used by Braavosi—warships disguised as merchant vessels.

"Wait!" Yulon grabbed Baron's wrist. The five-year-old's palm was less than half the size of an adult's, but it was surprisingly strong. "This isn't right! The Braavosi would never..."

Before he could finish, the wooden planks on the side of the "merchant ship" opposite them crashed down, revealing ten gleaming crossbows. In Yulon's vision, time seemed to stretch—he saw the crossbowmen draw their strings, saw the cold light reflecting off the steel arrows in the sun, and even saw the slight tremor of the fletching in the air.

"Take cover!"

Daggmo's roar sounded at the same time as the whistling of the first volley of arrows. A three-foot-long steel arrow pierced the chest of the oarsman next to Yulon, pinning him to the mainmast with flesh and blood. The man wasn't dead yet, his hands reaching futilely for the arrow shaft in his chest, pink blood foam sputtering from his mouth, splashing onto Yulon's face.

Yulon's mind went blank. Warm blood trickled down his cheek, the salty, fishy smell filling his nostrils. His legs trembled uncontrollably, but a more primal instinct took over his body. When the second wave of arrows came, his body had already automatically rolled behind a pile of ropes.

"Baron! Engage on the starboard side!" Daggmo's roar came from a distance.

Yulon glimpsed his brother leaping onto the enemy ship like a wild beast through the gaps in the ropes. Baron's longsword carved a deadly arc. A Braavosi mercenary wearing a bronze mask had just raised his scimitar when it was cleaved in half, along with his head. Brain matter arced through the air, splashing onto the gilded gunwale, gleaming eerily in the sun.

"Little sea monster! To your left!"

Old Wick's shout made Yulon turn his head sharply. A captain with a silver nose ring was charging towards a barrel of wine, a sinister grin clear on his face. In Yulon's vision, the dancing flame was magnified infinitely, the trajectory of the licking fire tongues clearly visible.

Time seemed to freeze. Yulon felt his heartbeat pound incredibly loudly, the sound of blood rushing through his veins like a tsunami. His right hand automatically reached for his waist, drawing the dagger Daggmo had given him—this weapon, longer than his forearm, felt as light as nothing.

"Die, you Ironborn bastard!" the silver-nosed captain roared.

Yulon's body reacted before his mind. He ducked and rolled, avoiding the flying torch, while his right hand thrust the dagger out like a viper. The sharp blade accurately sliced into the gap between the tendons of the opponent's knee. The silver-nosed captain's scream and the hissing sound of the torch falling into the sea sounded simultaneously.

"Ahhh! You little brat..."

Yulon didn't give him a chance to finish. Using the momentum from his roll, he got up, grabbed a harpoon from the deck with his left hand, and thrust it into the opponent's throat with all his might. The sound of the harpoon piercing the windpipe was dull and wet. The silver-nosed captain's eyes widened, and blood gushed from his mouth.

This was Yulon's first kill.

The smell of blood was thick and heavy. He looked down at his blood-stained hands, and strangely, he didn't feel disgusted. Instead, he felt a peculiar sense of satisfaction. The blackness of his left eye seemed to deepen, as if it could absorb all the light around him.

"Watch your back!"

Daggmo's warning made Yulon turn sharply. A bald giant was charging at him, swinging a chain hammer that was still smeared with brain matter and bone fragments. Yulon instinctively leaned back, the chain hammer whistling past his nose, the wind it generated stinging his cheek.

Yulon's gaze automatically locked onto the man's slightly stiff left leg. He grabbed a handful of scattered salt from the deck and flung it violently into the giant's face. The moment the man closed his eyes, the dagger accurately stabbed into the old wound on his left knee.

"Ah!" The giant fell to his knees, his chain hammer flying out of his hand.

Yulon didn't hesitate. He stepped on the man's back, gripped the dagger handle with both hands, and thrust downwards with all his weight. The blade pierced the leather armor and sank into the gap of the spine. The giant's scream cut off abruptly. His body convulsed violently like a fish pulled ashore, then lay still.

The battle on deck had entered its white-hot phase. Baron and a red-bearded mercenary wrestled in a pool of blood, their weapons gone, now reduced to animalistic biting. Daggmo was surrounded by three mercenaries, his battle axe chipped, but every swing sent a limb flying.

In the bloody boarding battle, the Ironborn warriors displayed their unique combat style. Yulon leaned against the shattered ship's side, panting as he observed this savage yet efficient art of killing.

"Ironborn! Let them taste the Old Way!" Daggmo's roar was like thunder. The old pirate's fighting style was the most typical Ironborn style—he wielded a short-handled battle axe with spikes on the back in his left hand, and a serrated dagger in his right. Each attack was like an endless tide, with no fancy moves, only the most direct and deadly chops. When the first Braavosi mercenary raised his shield to block, Daggmo's axe smashed fiercely onto the shield, numbing the opponent's arm, and then his right-hand dagger stabbed into the enemy's abdomen from below the shield.

"Watch closely, boy!" Wick, amidst the melee, still found time to instruct Yulon, "Ironborn don't use those knightly tricks!" He sidestepped a thrust and slammed his shoulder into his opponent's chest, and they both tumbled onto the deck. As he fell, Wick smashed his head into the opponent's nose, then bit down on the enemy's ear, tearing off a chunk of flesh.

This extremely savage fighting style shocked and fascinated Yulon. He noticed that the Ironborn generally used short weapons—battle axes, scimitars, harpoons, almost no longswords. These weapons were more agile on the narrow deck. During their time at sea, the sailors had taught Yulon how to fight, and he had a general understanding, but it couldn't compare to actual killing.

"On a ship, a longsword is a burden!" Baron's voice came from the melee, confirming Yulon's observation. His brother was fighting with a scimitar, shorter and thicker than the Westerosi common style, with a serrated back. Baron's every swing had a wave-like rhythm, his body naturally adjusting its center of gravity with the ship's sway. When a mercenary lunged with a sword, Baron didn't retreat. Instead, he moved forward against the blade, parried with his scimitar, and simultaneously drew a skinning knife from his waist, stabbing upwards into the opponent's chin from below.

The Ironborn excelled at this kind of close-quarters combat. Yulon saw Old Wick even throw away his weapon and beat his enemies with his iron-knuckled fists. This old sailor, missing two fingers, aimed every punch at the eyes, throat, and groin. "No rules in fighting at sea! Only life and death!" he spat out a broken tooth and shouted with laughter.

What shocked Yulon the most was the Ironborn's will to fight. A sailor with a harpoon in his chest lunged at an enemy before dying, biting through the opponent's throat. Another warrior, his abdomen slashed open, knelt on the ground still swinging his axe until he bled dry. They were like reefs in the sea, enduring all storms, yet smashing the waves against themselves until they bled.

"Remember, boy," Daggmo said, panting between bouts of fighting, "The Ironborn don't fear death, because the Drowned God will let us be reborn!" He spat out a mouthful of blood foam, "But make the enemy fear death!" Saying this, he grabbed a wounded mercenary and, amidst the man's piercing screams, gouged out an eyeball and stuffed it into the man's mouth.

This cruelty was not just for killing but also a psychological tactic. Yulon noticed that the mercenaries who witnessed this clearly began to falter, while the Ironborn became even more frenzied. They let out seagull-like shrieks, pouncing on their prey like a school of bloodthirsty piranhas, fully embodying the Ironborn combat principle: I might not live, but you will die!

When a mercenary turned to flee, Yulon instinctively grabbed a fishing net from the deck and threw it. The moment it caught its target, he pounced and stabbed repeatedly with his dagger until the man stopped struggling. As he stood up, he realized he was letting out the same victorious shrieks as the other Ironborn, like seabirds.

After the battle, Yulon looked at his blood-soaked hands and gained a deeper understanding of the Iron Islands' philosophy of survival—at sea, elegant swordsmanship was meaningless. Only the most savage, most direct, and most fearless warriors could survive. It was like waves crashing against reefs; either the reef would be worn down, or the waves would be shattered.

Yulon suddenly noticed something strange about the ship's cabin—the cold glint of iron chains peeked out from the gaps in the jewelry boxes "hastily" abandoned. He risked approaching and pried open a box with his dagger, gasping in shock: it was filled with shackles and chains. He vaguely heard heavy breathing from below the hold. The blood on the deck had all seeped down. Yulon tapped the deck, producing a crisp sound. He lifted a blood-stained carpet and, after pulling up a rusty iron ring, saw more than a dozen pairs of fearful eyes and many black rocks in the hold below.

"A slave ship! This was a merchant ship disguised as a slave ship!" Yulon's cry pierced the battlefield, his tone laced with disappointment and anger. "The lower hold is filled with stones and over a dozen slaves!"

This news enraged the Ironborn, who were already red-eyed from killing. Their axes and knives continued to move, their mouths spewing flowery language, their spittle capable of drowning the mercenaries. By the time Baron broke the neck of the last mercenary, the setting sun had dyed the sea blood-red. Yulon collapsed on the deck, only then realizing his clothes were soaked through with sweat and blood. There was a wound on his left arm, deep enough to see bone, but strangely, he felt almost no pain.

The Ironborn who were still alive and able to move searched for gold and silver treasures. Baron, dragging his injured left leg, walked over and looked at his brother with respect for the first time. "You saved my life." He grinned, his toothless smile particularly ferocious in the setting sun.

The battle was over. Yulon's strength was almost completely depleted from his few brief actions. He leaned against the ship's hold, panting, and casually waved away his brother's thanks.

Daggmo, enraged, slashed wildly with his sword in the Silver Swan's captain's cabin. "Damn it! Eight brothers' lives for this scrap metal!" The spoils of war included a dozen trembling slaves—all male, with no gold or silver treasure. It was a failed raid. If they returned with a ship full of sea sand, "Cracked Jaw" Daggmo's reputation would become a joke, and all the Ironborn would mock him until the Drowned God took him.

Yulon was not surprised by the lack of spoils from this battle. He struggled to stand and walked to the bow. The sea breeze brushed against his wound, bringing waves of stinging pain. He looked at the distant horizon and suddenly smiled.

"Have you ever thought," Yulon's voice was not loud, but it quieted the restless sailors, "why they would send an armed ship to patrol this area?" He pointed to the captured sea chart. "Look here, they resupplied three days ago. Over thirty heavily armed mercenaries, just to escort a few dozen slaves?"

Daggmo's single eye lit up. "Boy, you mean..."

"There must be bigger prey ahead," Yulon's mismatched eyes glittered in the twilight. "A merchant ship laden with gold, spices... and women."

"Leave a few alive!" Daggmo's roar echoed across the deck. "I'll interrogate them myself!"

[Ding! First naval battle, Pirate King System activation increased by 5%, current activation 85%]