Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web

Chapter 163: The Collapsing Castle

Birds chirped and frogs croaked in the quiet rainforest.

Theon Greyjoy stared intently at a point in the void, his expression shifting with complexity.

This was the fifth day since departing Rain House.

He had just received a message and two appointments from the Throne.

The God's Grace light screen flickered erratically.

Theon clearly realized that this was all real: one message, two appointments.

The message made him tremble and his mind go blank.

His father, Balon Greyjoy, the King of the Iron Islands, whom he hadn't seen in nearly ten years, was dead!

Balon Greyjoy was dead!

He had been murdered by "Euron Crow's Eye," who was about to return to the Iron Islands!

Thinking of his uncle Euron's "Silence," the terrifying sail of that long red ship, and the malicious black eye beneath the eye patch.

Theon had no doubt of his madness and ruthlessness.

Patricide? What did that count for to Crow's Eye? He was Crow's Eye, after all.

In any case, his father was dead.

Even though he had personally sent himself to the Starks as a hostage, even though they hadn't seen each other in ten years, even though the letters he sent to Winterfell were few and cold.

After all, his father was dead.

Theon felt his heart filled with sadness and grief, as well as the anger and strength of revenge.

Yes, sadness and anger.

That was how he explained his uncontrollable trembling and the hands tightly gripping the sword hilt.

Certainly not because of those two appointments.

Theon switched through the God's Grace light screen, looking at one appointment, then the other.

He was truly struggling to choose.

Both appointments were produced by the "Secretariat," stamped with His Majesty the King's seal, their authenticity and validity unquestionable.

One appointment was "Duke of Greyjoy," or "Warden of the Iron Islands."

The other appointment was "Guardian of the Sunset Sea," or "Commander-in-Chief of the Sunset Sea Fleet under the Royal Fleet."

Theon could only choose one of the two.

Both appointments were a surprise, and both were perplexing problems.

Duke of Greyjoy.

This was a position that Theon had dreamed of inheriting.

Theon also knew that His Majesty the King had redefined and clarified the peerage system. It was no longer based on strength or the liege lord to whom one was loyal, as it had been before.

Duke, Marquess, Earl, Viscount, Baron, Baronet, Knight, Citizen.

This was the updated peerage system of His Majesty the King.

Each rank of peerage enjoyed considerable preferential treatment and privileges. The higher the peerage, the more honorable, the more likely to be reused, and the more God's Grace one could share.

To date, only five dukes were recognized by the Throne.

Tywin Lannister, Hoster Tully, Eddard Stark, Robert Arryn, Doran Martell.

The traitors Renly Baratheon and Mace Tyrell had been stripped of their titles.

And Doran Martell of Dorne had always enjoyed the title of "Prince," and now his attitude was ambiguous, which obviously displeased King Joffrey.

Which meant.

If he accepted the title of Duke, Theon would become one of the six dukes of all of Westeros.

Theon Greyjoy, Duke, Eddard Stark, Duke.

Thinking of Stark's stern face and that terrifying greatsword, and then trying to juxtapose his name with Duke Eddard, Theon immediately felt a burst of heartfelt joy.

He almost immediately clicked on the "Duke of Greyjoy" appointment, fulfilling his long-cherished wish and returning home in glory.

But the "Warden of the Iron Islands" on the next line reminded him that times had changed.

Theon wasn't stupid.

He could guess the King's true intentions in establishing the Warden.

In Rain House, Theon had witnessed a power struggle, the King tearing apart visible and invisible opponents like a storm, easily achieving victory.

Who was the master of Rain House?

Ser G* * Wilder, the Warden.

Who dominated the Warden?

The King.

Theon looked at "Duke of Greyjoy" again, gradually shifting his gaze to the next line.

Warden of the Iron Islands, this will be an important and difficult position, the Ironborn captains will not easily submit, there are many challenges…

"Ser Theon, are you alright?"

The voice beside him interrupted Theon's thoughts, and he looked displeased at the source of the sound.

The brown-haired pretty boy smiled like a prostitute soliciting customers, unsure if his beautiful armor could withstand a hammer.

Damn it, he probably doesn't even need to pay to sleep with women.

Hmph, who cares.

Theon curled his lip in disdain.

"I'm doing very well, just wanting to kill a few hundred people and capture Moat Cailin. It's you who needs to survive later, Adam."

This pretty boy was the heir to the Weeping Town, Adam Whitehead.

The fleet's operations in the Weeping Town were very peaceful.

Earl Whitehead was an old man who couldn't walk, and the guards of the Weeping Town simply didn't dare to resist the powerful fleet.

After that.

The old man's eldest son, Adam, took the initiative to join the fleet and acted with his Seventh Regiment.

Adam Whitehead seemed to not hear the provocation in Theon's words at all, his face even showing surprise and gratitude.

"Thank you for your concern, Ser Theon."

"The Ser and the warriors of the Kingsguard are so powerful that we didn't injure a single person in the battle of Crow's Nest, so I believe Moat Cailin won't be more dangerous."

Adam showed deep trust and awe.

Theon couldn't say anything more, "Hopefully. Now be quiet and wait for my orders."

Adam nodded obediently.

Theon was quite proud of Adam's performance, but occasionally he would be inexplicably annoyed, feeling as if he had been deceived by this guy.

Perhaps it wasn't an illusion.

Theon knew that most of the nobles in the South were like this, full of praise but stabbing you in the back.

He really should loot the Weeping Town!

Kill a few knights!

Theon sometimes couldn't help but secretly complain about Barristan Selmy, too lenient with the traitors.

Greenstone, the Weeping Town, Stonehelm, the army's commander-in-chief, "The Bold" Barristan, couldn't see how he was bold at all, just waiting for the castles to release ravens, then persuading them to surrender, or sending troops to control them.

His own people, the enemy, no one's blood was shed.

Who could be deterred by this?

How could anyone be awed?

Theon's Seventh Regiment had become completely useless, just rushing straight through was enough, not even needing to show divine power, just the sheer number of people was enough to make the guards lay down their weapons and surrender.

Fortunately, this wasn't permanent.

The two sides began to act separately at the Slayne River.

Ser Barristan led the team westward into the interior, while Theon's Seventh Regiment went north along the Slayne River, ambushing Crow's Nest and then capturing Moat Cailin to the east.

At Crow's Nest, Theon's Seventh Regiment finally had a use.

Steel flew, flames danced, steam erupted, earth and stone changed shape, people were invulnerable to knives and guns, wounds disappeared in an instant, and there were bright lights and loud noises.

Considering the orders and discipline of the Kingsguard, Theon didn't completely turn Crow's Nest into ruins.

But in the end, there were only a few distant relatives who could inherit Crow's Nest from the Morrigen family. The original Earl Morrigen and his descendants had died in the battle.

Was this a good thing or a bad thing?

Theon only knew that the evaluation of his mission had not declined, and the points were still the same.

Some things didn't need to be said explicitly, didn't need to be encouraged.

Not punishing was the answer.

At that moment.

Theon looked around, the walls were broken, the shadows of Pyke and Winterfell seemed to flash by, and he vaguely heard the sound of something breaking, like shackles, like crystals, like steel.

In a trance, he looked at the collapsing castle.

His heart trembled.