Faced with abandonment, lack of support, and attacks from both flanks, the Unsullied did not collapse. They did not surrender.
Unfortunately, the number of Unsullied left outside the outer city, tasked with holding off the Dothraki, was small. The battle did not last long.
"What shall we do with these Qohor men?"
Kosoro, having cleared the wall towers, saw the archers and conscripted laborers who had long since knelt in surrender, unsure how to handle them.
Möngke's answer was resolutely cold:
"Once their weapons and armor are seized, cut off their hands and send them back to Qohor as a warning."
Kosoro bowed, accepting the order without question.
The Dothraki had no time to manage prisoners. The Qohor men, choosing surrender, still hoped to live, and by maiming them, they could no longer fight, while their caretakers in the city would be tied down.
When the Dothraki assaulted the inner city, they would face fewer enemies and looser resistance.
"Kosoro, open the gates. Send more troops in," Möngke commanded from the arrow tower, his blood-red curved blade pointing toward the shimmering lake inside the city.
"Take the troops along the wall corridors and seize the water gates. No ship shall leave this city."
Qohor was a circular city, less than three kilometers in diameter, divided into two rings: the inner city and the outer city.
The inner city held the lavish estates of nobles and ornate, domed buildings of unknown purpose. The outer city contained orderly residences and merchant markets.
Both inner and outer walls were over seven meters high. Four main avenues led to the city center, crossing at a plaza resembling a celestial pivot.
Notably, the southwest section contained a large artificial lake, with docks for a few merchant vessels. The water connected to the Quen River and extended into the inner city.
Both inner and outer city walls had multiple water gates. If the outer gates were not captured first, the nobles could escape by ship with their wealth.
When the bloodied Möngke emerged from the arrow tower, Dothraki warriors atop the walls erupted into cheers.
They knew that under this young Khal's leadership, a massive victory could be achieved with minimal losses.
After four centuries, the Dothraki had breached Qohor—once a city that had cost them dearly.
Möngke looked out to see the Dothraki, their eyes wild with beastly aggression and desire for plunder.
He raised his curved blade and strode forward, shouting:
"Silence!"
The Dothraki froze.
Khal Möngke was the tribe's strongest and fiercest warrior, proven through countless feats of valor.
He scanned the warriors and bellowed:
"Look at the obstacles piled in the streets, the inner city walls still standing. Is this the time for looting?"
Pointing to all of them, his voice cold as iron:
"You will follow my orders. Await my command. I say again: anyone who questions my authority will have their head cut off. No exceptions."
For a rising nomadic tribe, war, land expansion, plunder of livestock, slaves, and wealth were natural.
The Dothraki were synonymous with savagery across Essos and beyond. Massacres and destruction were their tradition.
Yet now, indiscriminate slaughter or looting in Qohor would be unwise.
If the Dothraki provoked the city's nearly one hundred thousand residents while still securing a foothold, the tribe's blood might run dry today, and its elite warriors could be wiped out inside the city.
Möngke's words subdued the Dothraki. He continued with firm authority:
"Who among you has endured more hardship and pain than I? Whose honor is more recognized by the gods than mine? I lead you to victory. In battle, I tear through enemy lines and kill more than anyone else, taking enemy blades in your presence, under the gaze of the heavens. All of this is for your honor, your wealth. Have I not shared the spoils and the fruits of victory with you?"
Seeing the Dothraki's attention fixed on him, he continued clearly:
"Capture the inner city. All Qohor's wealth and treasures will belong to you, eventually."
The promise ignited the Dothraki. Cheers thundered, the frenzy renewed.
The inner city walls were entirely stone, about eight meters high, appearing sturdier, with more vibrant banners and neatly aligned masonry than the outer walls.
Below the walls, houses were densely packed. Qohor's garrison had not demolished them, perhaps inadvertently making the assault slightly harder.
As alarm bells echoed through the city, residents hid, trembling, praying. The brave peered through doors and windows, assessing the situation.
Seeing that the Dothraki had not begun indiscriminate looting, the citizens' fear eased slightly. They destroyed statues of black goats, cursing the soldiers and nobles in the inner city.
A few wandering beggars and drunkards awaited the chaos, hoping to snatch spoils when conflict erupted.
When they encountered the incoming Dothraki cavalry, they eagerly sought positions among the spear ranks.
"Möngke Khal of the Dothraki Sea, followers of the Light King salute you."
From an empty alley came a sudden voice, putting the Dothraki on guard.
A figure emerged: seven feet tall, wearing a red hood, with a rounded, substantial belly concealed beneath a crimson robe.
"A Red Robe of Lahlo."
The "Red Robe" was a priestly figure of the Lahlo faith, named for their loose crimson garments.
Dothraki cavalry circled the figure, weapons drawn.
Möngke identified the visitor while gripping his blade. In wartime, caution was essential.
The Red Robe slowly raised his hands, palms outward, signaling surrender and carrying no weapons.
The Dothraki drew back the hood, revealing ebony skin, white hair like a lion's mane, and flame-patterned tattoos across his face and forehead.
"Valyrian of Volantis, servant of Lahlo."
Möngke, though no scholar, had long studied Essos' history, religions, and customs under Steward Övör's guidance.
The facial flame tattoos confirmed the man's origin: the Volantene Lahlo temple.
Volantes prided themselves on their Valyrian heritage, often marking slaves with tattoos denoting role and status.
Despite claiming all are servants of Lahlo, these tattoos marked actual temple slaves trained as monks or warriors.
The tattooed Red Robe bowed, saying reverently:
"Respected Khal, I am the servant of the Light King, Machiro."