The moment the name Zhiyuan (Farthest Reach) left Euron's lips and its echo still lingered in the sea breeze, a cold, grandiose voice that only he could perceive sounded directly deep within his mind:
[One Piece System: Host possesses his own battleship and has named it—Zhiyuan. The true path of conquest begins here!]
[One Piece System: Reward 5000 System Points.]
This sudden notification made Euron pause just as he was about to issue a new command.
This was a pleasant surprise.
Euron truly hadn't expected that simply owning and naming a ship of his own would be like triggering a hidden switch. It not only unlocked this so-called "path of conquest" but also directly brought a reward of system points that could be called generous.
This was a clear signal, foreshadowing that the functions of the "One Piece System" went far beyond simple draws; it was closely linked to his actual expansion and rule in this world.
The massive dark-red hull of the Zhiyuan, like a moving fortress, sailed around the rugged coastline of Pyke.
The white wake it plowed through the inky blue sea lingered for a long time, as if carving a brand-new mark into the heart of the kraken's home. The Ironborn on board stood at the edge of the deck, greedily feeling the majestic power and unprecedented stability of this beast breaking the waves. The sea breeze on their still-excited faces left them wanting more.
When the juggernaut finally docked steadily at the specially reinforced deep-water pier of Pyke's port, a buzz mixed with admiration and regret rose from the deck. Ironborn warriors stroked the cold gunwales, reluctantly stepping onto land along the gangplank, their eyes constantly looking back at the colossal silhouette of the ship.
Euron was among the last to disembark, his boots stepping onto the solid wooden pier. He had just straightened his robes, ruffled by the wind, when he looked up and saw a young, upright figure standing quietly on the shore, waiting—it was his nephew, Balon's eldest son, Rodrik Greyjoy.
Since his marriage to Gwynesse Goodbrother, this young Greyjoy had formally become an adult. He spent his days glued to his new wife, almost forgetting the world outside his window.
It wasn't until today, with the roar of the Zhiyuan's launch and the cheers of the whole island, that he was startled awake from his gentle slumber. It also made him suddenly remember a crucial matter: his uncle, who controlled deep-sea monsters, still owed him a heavy gift symbolizing his adulthood.
Rodrik stood before Euron, his young eyes flashing with unconcealed desire and expectation. He stared eagerly at his uncle, saying nothing, yet saying everything.
Euron's gaze lingered on his face for a moment. That bit of calculation was as clear to him as stones under clear water. He chuckled lightly, resigned. "Follow me."
Euron led Rodrik to a secluded seaside spot. His gaze cast into the depths of the dark blue bay, he gently tapped the surface of the sea. An invisible will spread out like ripples.
Moments later, the water not far from the pier began to bulge and churn unnaturally. A shadow, massive enough to make one's heart palpitate, slowly emerged from beneath the water.
A head of extremely peculiar shape, like a giant stone hammer, broke the surface. Its dark skin was slick and shiny, the bony structures at the edges gleaming with a cold, hard, rocky luster in the sunlight. Just part of its head was comparable to a small warship. The eyes set on either side looked ancient and indifferent.
[Hammerhead Reef-Splitter Shark]. A Sea King class beast, three hundred and fifty meters in length. Its iconic T-shaped head was a natural weapon of terror, capable of smashing seabed reefs like biscuits or instantly disintegrating any longship that dared stand in its way.
"It belongs to you from now on." Euron's voice was calm, but it landed in Rodrik's heart like a boulder. "Go get familiar with your partner, man of House Greyjoy."
Rodrik looked at the prehistoric beast radiating an ancient aura before him, so excited he could barely breathe. He nodded vigorously, then couldn't wait to run toward the water's edge to welcome this unique coming-of-age gift that far exceeded his imagination.
From then on, the waters around Pyke gained a violent new spectacle. Under the command of its new master, the Hammerhead Reef-Splitter Shark rampaged through the waves day and night. Its steel-like head smashed into dark reefs again and again. The rocks shattered with deafening booms, sending splashes flying dozens of feet into the air like crushed jade before falling as a curtain of salty rain.
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Beyond the turbulent sea, Euron's merchant fleets were as busy as migrating ants.
Fully loaded cargo ships shuttled back and forth between Highgarden and the lands across the Narrow Sea, their sails never absent from the horizon.
Provisions piled up like mountains on the docks. Barrels of fresh water and mellow wine were rolled up planks. Fresh fruit with dew still on it exuded its final fragrance in baskets.
All these supplies were funneled into Pyke, then continuously distributed to every longship moored in the bay.
Those dilapidated ships requisitioned from various places were now undergoing a complete metamorphosis.
They were pushed into dry docks one by one, like wounded soldiers onto operating tables. Craftsmen wielding sharp axes and saws carefully scrutinized every plank—those still usable had their keels reinforced and sails replaced, granted new life; those too rotten were dismantled on the spot. Hammers clanged, wood chips flew, and the souls of the old ships seemed to merge into the newly built hulls amidst the sound of hammering.
After this transformative overhaul, every longship about to embark on the expedition looked brand new.
The slender hulls could hold fifty to a hundred warriors, almost double the capacity of old-style longships.
Their lines were smoother, their drafts shallower, displaying amazing stability and agility in wind and waves.
Trading old for new, and not costing a single Gold Dragon—naturally, no one objected to such a good deal.
When these modified longships sailed out of the dry docks and formed up on the gloomy sea, even the most seasoned Ironborn couldn't help but marvel.
Captains who had switched to new ships couldn't wait to sail them, familiarizing themselves with their new partners.
On the vast sea surface, the fleet spread out like a dense flock of crows. The jagged longships connected bow to stern, nearly obscuring the currents. The scorched-brown sails drank their fill of the wind, and the crisp sound of ropes whipping against hulls between masts sounded like countless bowstrings being pulled taut.
On the beaches of Pyke, over ten thousand Ironborn warriors were conducting their final drills. Tempered blades drew cold light in the salty sea breeze. Every clashing impact sent sparks flying. Roars and crashing waves collided, shattering between the capes.
Day after day, these Ironborn from different islands drank under the same roof and slept on the same decks pillowed by the waves. The mellow scent of ale and the salty smell of roasted fish wove together in the air, feeding not just their bodies but melting the ice-like barriers of first acquaintance.
In countless nights lit by flickering bonfires, crude jokes and legends from each island were passed between wine bowls. It was in these unguarded moments that they glimpsed their companions' souls: knowing who called for home in their dreams, whose eyes hid a scar that wouldn't heal, whose laughter masked unknown fears.
This understanding, settled in daily life, would ultimately turn into unspoken tacit understanding on the battlefield.
Under Euron's arrangement, the units were deliberately shuffled and reorganized time and again. The initial awkwardness and confusion were quickly replaced by a new kind of collaboration.
They began to read offensive intent from a glance, to distinguish which gap needed plugging from a shout. Shield-bearers would instinctively shift toward the partner who favored thrusting with a spear from the left, and archers could always find the perfect interval to interject their shots.
They were no longer a group of brave men fighting individually, but in the tempering of blood and fire, they had fused into a true kraken with countless arms and sharp teeth.
Everything was ready; all that was needed was the east wind.
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