A smile bloomed on Khal Aero's face. He was pleased. He was satisfied. He lifted his chin up with pride. And even a sense of arrogance.
"I am privileged to accept the great honour that you all have bestowed upon me," he boomed. "And I will try my utter best to fulfill every responsibility that comes with this privilege. I will fulfill what is expected of me. I will try to be the Stallion who mounts the world."
"But it seems that not everyone is satisfied," he continued, his eyes gazing towards the standing Dothraki.
"And I will give a chance to everyone to be satisfied," he boomed. "Every Khal of his Khalasar who is unsatisfied can challenge me in a duel."
"I will take on all of you at the same time," he said.
For a moment, there was pin drop silence as his supporters and opposers processed his words. But then the crowd erupted into a massive cheer.
They were his supporters, his worshippers, and hearing such boastful words from their Great Khal had given them a massive adrenaline boost. They erupted in sheer joy and untamed savagery. It was this brutality and warrior spirit they worshiped.
Meanwhile, the Khals who had not kneeled in front of Khal Aero exchanged glances among themselves. They knew that they could not defeat Khal Aero in a one-on-one fight. From what they had heard about him, he was a warrior not seen in ages. And now that they knew that Khal Aero was no one but Lord Aeos himself, they had no reason to doubt such claims. But taking him on together. Now this was an option they were willing to take.
Fighting so many of them together against a single person was surely not something their pride would have usually allowed, but their opponent was no ordinary man.
They nodded simultaneously and the challenge was accepted.
The massive crowd, including Khal Aero and the Khals, arrived outside the boundaries of Vaes Dothrak. The crowd formed a massive circle. And at the centre of the circle standing were Khal Aero and the Khals who would fight him. There were eighteen of such Khals.
Jon obviously did not recognize any of them. But there was one face among them that was familiar to him. Khal Drogo. When Game of Thrones had been nothing more than a book or show for him in his previous life, Jon had respected Khal Drogo as a warrior. And now the irony, that he was going to kill the man himself. He did not feel any mercy or sense of sympathy for Khal Drogo. The man was a warrior, and he had chosen his path. Jon could only respect his choices.
Jon pulled out his own Arakh in one hand while he borrowed an Arakh from another Dothraki for his other hand. He swung them in a criss-cross motion with a provocating smirk on his face.
"Let us begin and end this," he mumbled.
He had barely finished when four Khals dashed towards him, their Arakhs raised high in the air, aimed straight at Jon's head and his other vital parts. For a normal warrior, they were fast but for Jon they were nothing. They were as slow as a snail to him. He sidestepped as two of the Arakhs passed close to his shoulders. But harmlessly. On the other hand, the two Arakhs in his hands moved and met with the other two incoming Arakhs. A clang echoed in the opening.
This one move was enough for the Khals to realise that even four of them were not sufficient to overpower him. And they did not hesitate. Another four Khals rushed towards him with their Arakhs raised high. They were not hesitating in the slightest to go for his head.
But for Jon more numbers did not mean anything. He moved, sidestepped and backtracked and probably did so all at the same time. It was an unreal display of flexibility and strength and skill. It was an unreal display of manoeuvre. Every spectator including the Khals was awestruck and shocked.
And in continuing the same awe display manoeuvre, Jon sliced his Arakh. His right arm twisted almost naturally and in an impossible display of agility, the blade claimed the neck of one of the Khals. Blood spurted from the neck of the Khal.
But Jon did not stop there. While the crowd was focused on his right arm, his left arm also moved. And immediately after the first Khal had been sliced, his left hand found its mark too. It cut open a big wound on the chest of another Khal. Blood spurted from this wound too.
The first Khal struggled for a moment but collapsed immediately on the ground. Meanwhile, though the second Khal had survived, the wound was too deep and he surely had lost the ability to fight.
A smile formed on Jon's face and he pressed. What followed was a one-sided massacre. None of the eighteen Khals were able to even nick him with their blades. And in a short time, he cut all of them. Ten of the eighteen Khals succumbed to their injuries and died while the remaining eight were grievously injured, even unable to stand on their feet. It had been a duel unseen before.
Jon could have taken things slowly. He could have shown a bit of struggle. He could have chosen not to reveal his full abilities. And even then, taking eighteen Khals at the same time would have been a great, great deal.
But he knew that though the majority of Dothraki had accepted him as their Great Khal, there would still be many who would have doubts about him. And by giving a performance, showing them strengths and skills they could not have even imagined, he was going to quash all their doubts. He did not want to leave any doubt fostering in the minds of any Dothraki.
"The Great Khal! The Great Khal!" The roar echoed in the surroundings and every Dothraki was kneeling before Khal Aero. As he intended, Jon had crushed all the doubts and questions about him being the prophesied leader.
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