The twenty thousand longbowmen on the front line alone were enough to make Drogo hesitate.
He did not know that, besides the archers ahead of him, two more forces—one of seven thousand, another of eight thousand—were already sweeping in from both flanks.
Yet even now, Drogo wavered.
In less than half an hour, he had already lost nearly twenty thousand men.
He could not understand what kind of bow Viserys was using, nor why it possessed such terrifying power.
At that moment, a rider hurried to him.
"Khal Drogo, something's wrong! Viserys… their king is charging this way!"
"Viserys?!"
Drogo could hardly believe it.
Was he not supposed to be on the Golden Fields?
Drogo climbed onto a boulder and looked out.
There he saw him.
A silver-haired figure wearing a square ruby crown rode at the head of heavy cavalry and infantry.
Viserys had deliberately removed his helmet so Drogo could see him clearly.
The army behind him moved like a massive black blade, cleaving the battlefield cleanly in two.
Behind the heavy infantry marched ranks of longbowmen.
Only now did Drogo see their weapons clearly.
Such long bows—he had never seen anything like them before.
The longer the bow, the farther the arrow flies? The thought flashed through his mind.
But he quickly realized something more important.
If Viserys succeeded in splitting his army, then even the twenty thousand he had already lost would mean nothing.
He might not even be able to take twenty thousand men back with him.
"Order it! Retreat! Full retreat!"
Drogo finally made his decision.
But by then, the flanking forces were already in position.
...
"You! Go block their retreat! Do not let them escape!"
Ock spotted the armor on Jason and recognized him as a veteran. He immediately ordered him to cut off Drogo's escape route.
Jason simply nodded.
He led his men—and his sons—toward their assigned position.
Once they were out of Ock's sight, Jason turned and shouted:
"All soldiers, hear my command! Remove your armor!"
He had realized that intercepting the Dothraki would bring enormous merit.
At his order, the soldiers stripped off their armor and threw it into a pit beneath the trees, sacrificing protection for speed.
Soon, three hundred men took position behind a small cluster of trees.
Their task was simple.
Drive the fleeing Dothraki back.
Jason looked at his sons.
They were nervous.
"Hold your longbows steady. You've seen what they can do."
"There are three hundred of us. Three hundred can hold off three thousand."
"If you can kill a Dothraki ko, you might earn a title...Then every girl in Gohor and Pentos will be yours to choose from!"
Jason knew this was not the time for criticism. Encouragement was what they needed.
And it worked.
At the mention of women, the young men's fear melted away.
Their eyes burned as they stared at the distant Dothraki.
....
Meanwhile, Zekko and the two lesser khals who had followed Drogo had already suffered heavy losses.
The flanking longbowmen began to unleash their fire.
In less than half an hour, they harvested another large portion of the Dothraki army.
Zekko and the two lesser khals were all slain.
The Dothraki were known for their love of killing. But when it was their own people dying in droves, fear took hold.
The ground was covered in dense clusters of arrows.
Feathered shafts stained red jutted from the earth like strange, unnatural growths from a mass of flesh.
Some warriors broke completely at the sight.
Hundreds of thousands of arrows had taken tens of thousands of lives. Their bodies were nailed to the battlefield.
In time, they would rot and nourish the land.
....
Viserys continued advancing from the center.
Halfway forward, his forces split into three groups, cutting the battlefield into even smaller sections.
Drogo had completely lost the will to fight. Fewer than five thousand men remained at his side.
Many were wounded.
He had come with over sixty thousand.
Now he would leave with barely five thousand broken survivors.
In more than twenty years of life, Drogo had never suffered such defeat.
"Stay with me! I will take you home!"
He roared and charged ahead. All hope rested on him—the undefeated khal.
The dream of conquering Gohor was gone.
Now there was only one desire.
Survival.
Before the encirclement fully closed, Drogo led his remaining riders toward the position Jason had just established.
"Father… that man… I think that's Drogo!"
Jason's fourth son, Glen, had sharp eyes.
Before the battle, Viserys had distributed portraits of the khals to the soldiers.
The claw-like tattoo across Drogo's chest was unmistakable.
Jason looked carefully.
Yes.
There was no doubt. That was Drogo.
"..My Title!"
[AN: Drooling over a potential noble title following military]
In that instant, every hair on Jason's body stood on end.
He stepped to the front and shouted:
"Draw—!"
He gritted his teeth, struggling to control his breathing as Drogo approached at terrifying speed.
"Loose! Free fire! Let every arrow fly!"
...
Drogo saw Jason's intent clearly.
Anger surged within him.
Before this war, no one who heard the name Drogo had ever dared stand in his path.
Yet now, a nobody with only three hundred men blocked him.
He did not slow.
He did not dodge.
Instead, he urged his horse forward even faster.
Arrows rained down without pause, cutting down Dothraki riders.
Drogo twisted and leaned with unmatched skill, avoiding death again and again.
His horse, sensing his fury, screamed and surged forward. The speed made it nearly impossible for the archers to aim.
Jason raised his bow—
But Drogo hurled his curved blade.
A flash of white cut through the air like lightning.
Jason's head flew into the sky.
"Father!"
His eldest son screamed.
The archers faltered as their commander fell.
Drogo seized the moment.
He crashed into their formation like a storm.
Jason's eldest and second sons rushed forward, their first instinct to retrieve their father's head.
Both died within moments.
Drogo moved like a tiger among sheep.
His blade flashed again and again, like endless lightning.
One soldier tried to block with his bow...The blade split both the bow and his skull in a single stroke.
In less than a dozen heartbeats, Drogo alone shattered the entire position.
He wanted to charge again.
But reinforcements of archers were already arriving. If he hesitated now, not even a tenth of his men would survive.
Covered in blood, Drogo looked back at the battlefield.
He pulled his long braid forward across his chest.
With a single slash, it fell to the ground.
Then, with his hair cut to his shoulders, he disappeared into the fleeing remnants of his army.
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor