At dawn, the moisture in the air quickly suppressed the metallic scent that had lingered after a night of fighting.
Two armies stood facing each other from afar—one clad in black, the other in yellow.
Between them rode two men.
One wore black armor.
The other stood bare-chested.
The man in black armor was Viserys. His silver hair, swept back, stood out starkly in the dim light before sunrise.
Opposite him stood Khal Ogo.
"Well, here's your son."
Viserys casually tossed something forward.
A blood-soaked head rolled across the ground.
It was Fogo's head.
Fogo had led five thousand riders straight into Viserys's encirclement like a man blinded by greed.
What awaited him was not glory—
But a storm of longbow arrows.
The battle had lasted less than two hours. In that short time, eighty percent of his elite force had been wiped out.
Ogo stared down at the head, which still seemed warm.
His eyes filled with disbelief.
The head rolled slightly, its long black braid wrapping around it. But he recognized it instantly.
The size. The shape.
That was his son. His heir.
Fogo.
Some of the five thousand had escaped. But Ogo still could not understand.
How had Viserys defeated them so quickly?
He looked at the calm figure on horseback. His voice trembled, "Drogo... where is Drogo?"
"I don't know. Probably ran."
"You defeated him?"
"Yes. You could say that."
"But your elite troops were all in the Golden Plains! How is this possible?!"
Viserys cut him off coldly.
"Enough."
"Either take your barbarian army and get out of the Free Cities—and never cross the Forest of Qohor again…"
"Or we fight now."
"And I will defeat you just as I defeated Drogo."
Ogo looked past him.
At the army behind Viserys. They stood like wolves, watching him.
Cold.
Silent.
Deadly.
A chill crept over his entire body.
After a long moment of inner struggle—Ogo suddenly leapt off his horse.
The move shocked everyone.
Even Viserys's guards and the remaining Dothraki warriors stared in disbelief.
"I am Ogo, son of Khal Dolango, grandson of Khal Norton. I request to become your ko."
"I will guard your lands east of the Rhoyne. I will answer your call in war. I will die where your sword points."
Viserys blinked.
"You surrendered? You're not even going to avenge your son?"
For a moment, he could hardly believe it. Was this some kind of long game? Some hidden revenge?
Looking at Ogo kneeling on the ground, Viserys instead became more cautious.
But he had recently absorbed the essence of two thousand roaring warriors.
Confidence in his own strength steadied him.
In the end, he accepted.
"All who resist will be executed on the spot... In my stone halls, you will always have a place."
"My arakh falls. I hear and obey." Ogo rose, mounted his horse, and returned to his lines.
What followed was swift.
He issued a string of rapid commands. Then ordered his own guards to execute several dissenters.
And without hesitation— He led his army to attack the camps of the other two khals.
"Your Majesty… what just happened?"
"Did Ogo just swear loyalty to you?"
"I don't know," Viserys replied calmly. "Maybe."
"Leave three thousand men to watch him. We return to camp."
Viserys had no intention of trusting a man like Ogo. A man who would not avenge his own son—
Was more dangerous than any enemy.
Such a man was like a wolf. You could walk beside him... But never lower your guard.
He led his dragon cavalry back to the main camp, where Rhaella and Jon Connington were stationed.
When the ministers heard that Viserys had subdued a Dothraki khal, they were overjoyed.
"Congratulations, Your Majesty! Another twenty thousand cavalry at your command!"
"Targaryen will soon reclaim the Iron Throne!"
Some hurried forward to offer praise.
But others, like Jora and Jon Connington, remained cautious.
"Your Majesty, this Ogo ignored his own son's death. Such a man cannot be trusted, much less relied upon."
"Yes, Your Majesty. He must have ulterior motives."
As the ministers voiced their concerns, Rhaella simply watched her son.
Their violet eyes met.
After a moment, Viserys spoke.
"Rest assured."
"Ogo fears the power of our longbowmen."
"And now that he knows Drogo has been defeated, he has lost the courage to continue fighting us."
"I am the king of the Andals and the Rhoynar."
"He has slaughtered my people. I will not forget that. But for now, Braavos and Volantis are openly supporting the Dothraki."
"Drogo also escaped from the Velvet Hills. His strength and reputation still matter."
"We may have won—but our situation has not improved."
He paused.
Then continued, his voice cold. "Once Drogo is dealt with... I will kill Ogo."
"We will ensure that no khal in the Great Grass Sea can gather ten thousand riders again."
"And then... We will execute the usurper."
"And reclaim the Iron Throne."
Hearing this, the tension in the room eased.
He was right.
Gohor had no allies.
From the moment Viserys chose this land, he had become a threat to every Free City.
If Gohor had been a minor power, perhaps Volantis and Pentos might have sought friendship.
But Viserys's ambition was too great.
And Gohor was too rich. Even its printing technology alone was enough to make others covet it.
But now—
The power of the longbow had been revealed.
In the coming years, every city would have to reconsider its stance toward Gohor.
Or risk losing land.
Or even their survival.
Meanwhile, Ogo moved quickly. He eliminated those among the Dothraki nobles who refused to submit.
Then he absorbed the khalasars of the other khals.
The seven to eight thousand riders he had lost— Were replaced.
Even exceeded.
With the help of Viserys's dragon cavalry during the consolidation, his strength had actually grown.
After witnessing the power of the dragon cavalry firsthand—
Ogo made his decision.
He would obey Viserys's command. And personally travel to Gohor.
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