When Ghidorah carried Viserys to Moro Kaho's camp, the Khal, renowned for his martial prowess, was already prepared for war.
Holding a sharp Dothraki Dothraki arakhs and mounted on his warhorse, he had assembled his most loyal Blood Riders and hundreds of elite cavalry. They formed a charging formation, letting out roars of challenge toward the sky.
The dothraki worship courage. Even when facing a giant dragon, Moro insisted on conducting a tragic, suicidal charge to ensure his name would be sung in stories.
"Warriors of the Dothraki, the Great Stallion will protect us! Let the monster in the sky taste our strength!" Moro raised his Dothraki arakhs high and was the first to spur his horse forward.
"For the Khal!" The Blood Riders howled as well, spurring their horses to follow their Khal in a desperate charge toward Ghidorah.
However, such mindless, fearless charging in the face of absolute power was destined to be nothing but a tragedy.
Ghidorah's three heads breathed simultaneously. Fire, frost, and Golden Rays of annihilation wove into a web of death, plowing trails of scorched earth, frozen wastes, or zones of total erasure through the charging cavalry. Those remaining were thrown from their horses, their screams never-ending.
The momentum of the charge collapsed in an instant. Khal Moro himself was grazed by a Golden Ray; his left arm and half his shoulder vanished instantly, and he fell from his horse screaming.
Viserys steered Ghidorah to land in the center of the battlefield, now a sea of fire and corpses. Khal Moro lay there, unable to stand again.
He leaped off the dragon's back, wielding Blackfyre and Bloodshadow. Khal Moro's three Blood Riders, eyes bloodshot, let out desperate roars and lunged at Viserys from different directions. They were the top warriors of the Great Grass Sea, but before Viserys, the gap was like an unbridgeable chasm.
Viserys stood his ground, Bloodshadow in his left hand pointing diagonally at the ground, and Blackfyre in his right held across his chest.
The first Blood Rider to arrive raised his Dothraki arakhs over his head to cleave Viserys. But Viserys simply slashed upward with Blackfyre; the valyrian steel sword easily severed both steel and flesh, and half the Dothraki arakhs flew into the air.
Just then, the second Blood Rider's horizontal slash arrived. Viserys merely pivoted his body as if dancing, dodging the attack, and with a flick of his wrist, Bloodshadow lunged forward. The sword's tip, like a viper, easily sank into the man's throat.
Before the blood could even spray, Viserys had already used the momentum to turn and strike the third man first, Blackfyre carving an arc through the air.
When the man's head left his shoulders, his eyes were still open. Reflected in his pupils was the image of the first warrior's severed Dothraki arakhs hitting the ground.
In mere moments, the three top-tier Blood Riders were all dead.
Khal Moro lay there, his vision beginning to blur from excessive blood loss. He watched Viserys approach, his lips moving but unable to make a sound.
Viserys didn't deliver a finishing blow; he simply watched coldly as the man drew his last breath. Then he cut off his head and had a dothraki man hold it up.
Ghidorah loomed behind him, his three heads turning slightly, intimidating the surrounding dothraki. Fires still burned, corpses littered the battlefield, and the smell of blood was thick enough to choke on. The surrounding warriors gripped their weapons, their bodies cold with fear as they stared at the silver-haired figure standing there.
"Your Khal was but a boy on a horse. I am the Dragon King who rides a dragon," Viserys said in Dothraki with a Valyrian accent as more figures gathered. He timed a command for Ghidorah to blast Dragonfire into the sky, terrifying the dothraki into bowing and backing away.
"Can your horses swallow cities? Can your horses eat Dragonfire? I walk through fire, while you only hide from it. I am the blood of the true dragon."
"Now, I give you three choices."
He held up three fingers, lowering one with each point he made.
"First, avenge your Khal." His gaze fell on the front row of warriors; one man's Adam's apple bobbed.
"But I will turn your skulls into wine cups, just as my ancestors did to the rhoynar. You can try to see which is faster: your Dothraki arakhss or my swords."
"Second, cut off your braids and leave like stray dogs." A smirk played on his lips, his tone mocking.
"Slink back to the grasslands with your cut braids and tell everyone your Khal was slaughtered like a sheep. See if any other Khalasar will take you in, or if they will simply divide your women and children among themselves."
He paused for a moment, letting the shame and fear fester among the crowd.
"Third." His voice trailed off with a special resonance. "Kneel and surrender to me, the blood of the true dragon of House Targaryen, valyrian dragon king, the Unburnt, King of the Andals, the rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, breaker of chains, Liberator of Slaves, Conqueror of the Dothraki, and Father of Dragons."
He took a step forward, his foot stepping into the pool of blood spreading from Khal Moro.
"You will forget the life on horseback, for I shall give you better things. Castles built of stone, mountains of gold, fair-skinned women dressed in silk. Help me rebuild my empire, and I will let you graze on the most fertile plains, drink from golden cups, and let your sons become lords."
"Those who kneel need not fear Dragonfire. Now, are you willing to kneel and swear your loyalty to me?"
The crowd began to exchange glances. They did not fear death, but they feared a meaningless death. Furthermore, Khal Moro had died after falling from his horse; a man who falls from his saddle is not worth following.
Finally, someone took the lead by letting go of their hilt, dropping to one knee, and placing their whip on the ground. Once someone led the way, it became simple; more people began to kneel in fealty to Viserys.
Cheers of "Dragon-riding Khal!" began to ripple through the crowd.
"true dragon Khal!" they shouted.
Viserys smiled. He mounted Ghidorah and circled above the crowd.
Once everything had settled, he summoned the remaining leaders of the three tribes.
There were seven Ko who had survived in total.
"Your choice was very wise. Break camp at dawn tomorrow. Head to the Disputed Lands, contact the Golden Company Mercenaries there, and coordinate with their movements."
He was preparing to take action against the Free Cities; after all, constantly reacting to their moves would lead to unnecessary losses.
He had no doubt the Golden Company could take Myr, but these dothraki were needed to help them intercept the armies of Tyrosh and other city-states. The Golden Company alone might not be able to manage all of that.
Viserys appointed a relatively experienced Ko, Tomo, to temporarily integrate and lead these three Khalasars. From Viserys's brief exchange with the Ko, Tomo seemed to be the only one with a brain; the others were complete brutes.
Having resolved the threat from the grasslands, Viserys did not take the opportunity to relax. Instead, he traveled without pause, riding Ghidorah back to Valyria.
Kinvara's previous warning had left a lingering sense of unease in his heart. This unease had become even more pronounced after he left Valyria. Therefore, he needed to return as quickly as possible to prevent any accidents.
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