Blood-and-Flesh Bastion
On the frozen surface of the bay, a dark red ice wall more than two meters high rises from the ground, looking at it at first glance like a miniature the Wall.
The main material of the ice wall is, of course, ice blocks quarried from the sea ice layer, while the dark red color comes from the flesh and blood of fish caught from the sea after their limbs were cut off.
The flesh and blood of sea fish can solidify quickly, so Jon used it as an adhesive. Upon closer inspection, one can see that this ice wall is covered with scales, and many fish heads and tails are peeking out from the gaps in the ice.
Jon brought mostly soldiers capable of drawing strong bows, and even brought all the expensive crossbows.
Soldiers can safely project fire from behind the sturdy ice walls.
Jon had no intention of fighting Euron. Time was on his side; the longer the conflict dragged on, the less likely the pirates would be to escape. Once Robb's Northern Army arrived, their deaths would be inevitable.
Meanwhile, the Iron Islands soldiers, facing Jon's army, gathered on their respective ships awaiting orders from their captains and commanders.
Late last night, Euron returned to this nameless bay, but due to the forced march, some soldiers even fell behind, forcing them to use these ships as a base for a short rest.
They didn't take Jon's ice wall seriously. In their plundering, they climbed even higher walls, and Euron told them that Jon only had about a thousand men, while they had a full eight thousand.
Even without Euron saying anything, the Iron Islands pirates could tell from the number of ships that Jon's army was not large.
Therefore, everyone wanted to end the battle quickly, find a way to get the ship out, and then go elsewhere to plunder again.
"My lord, let me go and attack first. Their walls aren't very high. If we bring more men, we should be able to break through!" Sawane Botley suggested to Euron.
Euron was not actually good at fighting, and when faced with such a battlefield, his first thought was whether there was any magic that could help him win.
But the fact that Jon would also Sacrificial Magic was clearly beyond his expectations, and he really had no other preparations.
He had ravens to act as his eyes, and Jon had Raven too, and the other side seemed to be better prepared.
There seems to be no other option but to confront them head-on.
"Then go ahead, and have the ones in armor lead the charge," Euron commanded.
"Yes, sir."
Upon receiving Euron's orders, Shavin led two thousand men to prepare for an attack on the right flank of the Ice Wall.
Shavin stood on a ship frozen in ice, looking at the Iron Islands soldiers, whose clothing was mostly greyish-black.
The soldiers' hair was mainly black, dark brown, and flaxen, with small amounts of red and yellow.
That must be blood from the Riverlands and the Westerlands; their mothers were probably someone's Salt Wife or spoils of war. And the brighter the hair color, the simpler their equipment.
Most soldiers wore leather armor, since they were basically fighting on ships, and if they were fighting in armor and accidentally fell into the water, they would certainly die.
Now they have to fight on land, although it's practically on ice, so their equipment is a huge disadvantage. Their only advantage is that they outnumber their opponents several times over.
Portley took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the icy air, and shouted, "We are the Ironborn of the Iron Islands, we are the children of Drowned God! That despicable bastard has trapped our ship with his vile witchcraft—this is blasphemy against Drowned God! For Drowned God, for the Iron Islands, tear them apart!"
Long live the Drowned God!
Long live the Drowned God! Long live the Iron Islands!
The morale of the Iron Islands soldiers was roused, and they carried makeshift ladders to climb Jon's ice wall.
As for Jon, he didn't need to motivate his soldiers at all. As they watched the pirates charging towards the ice wall, their eyes gleamed with anticipation.
According to Jon's rules, each head represents a piece of land and a pile of gold coins. When they learned that there were more than eight thousand pirates on the other side, everyone felt their hearts race.
They looked at their thick armor, the fine bows and crossbows in their hands, and the sharp swords and spears in their hands; the heat emanating from their bodies was almost melting the ice beneath their feet.
Battle was imminent. Although the Iron Islands had archers who could provide some fire support and projectiles, out of their army of over eight thousand, there were fewer than five hundred archers, and the quality of their bows and crossbows varied greatly.
After a light volley of arrows, only a few white dots remained on the ice wall, showing no signs of damage.
Meanwhile, the Iron Islands soldiers carrying ladders continued to charge forward under the cover of the relatively mild rain of arrows.
However, an accident occurred; their feet slipped terribly. Jon had already ordered his men to make the ice wall as slippery as possible by splashing water, but the pirates were still carrying ladders. If one person slipped, a string of people would slip as well. Those behind tried to slow down, but the result was a chain reaction, with a large number of people slipping and falling.
There is nothing more demoralizing than this. The scene before them made even the soldier behind them, Sawane Botley, slow down, afraid that he too might slip and embarrass himself on the battlefield.
"Everyone, get ready—" Brynden, who was in charge of the operation, commanded expressionlessly, and almost everyone standing behind the ice wall drew their bows and nocked arrows.
"Pull—" The dense bowstrings creaked and groaned, a sound that made the pirates' teeth ache. They struggled to get up and continue their charge, but their feet were too slippery.
"Put!"
The bowstrings snapped and the soldiers began firing freely in rapid succession.
Under the relentless barrage of arrows, bursts of blinding blood erupted dozens of meters away from the ice wall, quickly soaking the once relatively clean ice surface with bloodstains.
Because he was at the very back of the charging column, Portley scrambled away from the arrows' reach, only to be met with a hellish sight he would never forget: a wounded man struggled to get up, but the ground was too slippery, and the uneven weight distribution caused by the arrow wounds caused him to fall down again as soon as he stood up.
Even worse, some people had barely stood up and managed to run a couple of steps when their desperate companions grabbed their trouser legs and pulled them down.
Under that torrential rain of arrows, everyone desperately tried to seize that sliver of hope. But the arrows seemed to have eyes, piercing their bodies one after another.
After leaving behind more than five hundred corpses, the pirates' enthusiasm was completely extinguished, and even those who had not participated in the charge dared not easily raise their voices or engage in battle.
"Hey! I got to be a Night's Watch for once," Sandor thought with a sudden sense of humor, looking at the fleeing pirates and the ice wall beneath his feet.
The other soldiers happily calculated their gains in this battle. They had suffered almost no casualties, yet they could basically share a kill between two people.
"I shot four dead! Now I can go back and get married!"
"Who says otherwise? These guys can't even get up; it's easier for them than shooting a rabbit."
The soldiers of Casterly Rock were excitedly discussing their spoils, while Euron was shrouded in gloom.
Euron, with his Euron as eyes, knew perfectly well where Robb's army was; they were galloping along the Kingsroad toward Winterfell.
There are three thousand men, all cavalry. They can reach Winterfell in three days at most, and then in another two or three days they will arrive at this bay. My time is running out.
"To be honest, choosing to attack Winterfell was a mistake. At least other places don't have that damned ice and snow! Our ships wouldn't be stuck in this godforsaken place!"
A captain from the House Drumm complained, but before he could finish speaking, a short knife emerged from his chest.
The captains who came to discuss the matter were all shocked; the murderer was Euron's servant.
Euron's sinister voice rang out. "We have no other choice but to break out now. Anyone who continues to complain here will be the first one I send to attack that damned ice wall tomorrow!"
Under Euron's tyrannical power, the captain, who was about to complain, quickly shut his mouth, only then remembering that this man was King Balon's brother.
"My lord, perhaps we could try using that Stark," someone said. This was the captain of the House Goodbrother, Gubole's son.
His suggestion was simple: use Bran as leverage, or rather, as a condition, to get Jon to make way for them to leave.
The young man's suggestion was accepted by many, since exchanging a cripple for their livelihood seemed like the best deal imaginable.
But he didn't notice that Sawane Botley, who had just come down from the battlefield, remained silent.
Shavin knew that Euron seemed to value Bran highly, and he certainly wouldn't be willing to exchange Bran for him.
After all, how could someone who can summon blizzards bow down to mortals?
Sure enough, Euron said in a deep voice, "You're from the House Goodbrother, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir." The young man seemed a little confused.
"I heard that you Gubole like to mine iron ore and then exchange it for money with the people of the Green Lands, is that right? We Ironborn always pay with iron price, why do you Gubole prefer to pay with gold coins?"
"My lord, we—" The young man tried to argue, but Euron interrupted him.
"We have a full eight thousand people, but that bastard only brought a little over a thousand. Are you suggesting that all eight thousand of us surrender to a mere thousand? Are you still a descendant of the ' Grey King '?"
Finally, after Euron's moral blackmail, no one brought up the matter of making peace anymore. But just then, a servant rushed in looking flustered.
The group rushed outside and saw that Jon had made use of the corpses they had left on the battlefield.
These corpses met the same fate as the sea fish—serving as adhesive for ice.
With these corpses, that damned ice wall grew three feet higher overnight!
The severed limbs and broken pieces protruding from the ice made the terrifying ice wall appear even more grotesque, turning it into a true Blood-and-Flesh Bastion.