Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 142 Turning Against Each Other on the Spot
"Ding!"

With a sharp crack, Dzeko raised his scimitar high, barely managing to block Laharo's scimitar, but his knee buckled and he almost fell to the ground.

"Then let's see if you can defeat me!"

Zheko stumbled back three or five steps, regulated his breathing, gritted his teeth, and launched another attack.

"Defeat me, and I will request to forge a blood pact with you and become your Blood Guard! But I have a condition: take me to Andari to broaden my horizons!"

Rahalo sidestepped the blade, and Atak's scimitar went straight for Zheko's back, opening another bloody gash.

"You're also interested in Andari?"

Dzeko turned to face Rahalo, completely ignoring the wound on his back. He shook his neck, a hint of longing flashing in his eyes.

"I've heard that there are knights dressed in iron armor, castles that tower into the clouds, and an iron chair made of swords in the castle!"
The Grass Sea may be vast, but it's all the same, and it can't satisfy my ambition! I want to find the strongest person in Andari and kill him in a duel!

"You have a way to Andari, and you have a city. You will help me fulfill my wish, and I will help you fulfill yours!"

The two clashed more and more fiercely, the sound of blades clashing echoing across the grassland.

Although Zheko was huge, he was incredibly agile, while Lahalo, though much shorter, delivered powerful blows with every single one.

However, Rahalo held back a trick without Dzeko noticing, but even so, he still managed to leave several bloody cuts on Dzeko's body and legs.

He was going to Westeros anyway, to get revenge on Lanley for Lazar's kick, and also to Stormlands to collect debts from Riverwood.

Taking Dzeko along wouldn't hurt; we could gain a fierce general and 20,000 cavalry. Why not?
Just as Lahalo was about to agree, Dzeko suddenly stepped back a few paces, disengaging from the battle, and pointed his blade at one of his own men.

There's someone in our army you'd really like to meet.

Lahalo looked in the direction of the knife and saw a familiar figure.

"Bono?"

Bono was a kor from the Khalasar during the Drogo era. He betrayed him with ten thousand men and joined Dzeko!
Rahalo's eyes turned cold, and a murderous aura spread. "You want to continue harboring that traitor?"

Zheko laughed heartily, “That’s right. I promised him that as long as I, Zheko, am here on the Dothraki Grass Sea, no one can touch him.”

He emphasized the words "Dothraki Grass Sea" in particular.

Lajalo instantly understood Dzeko's implied meaning.

Once Bono leaves the Grasslands and heads to Westeros, he will no longer be protected.

Then, Rahalo smirked coldly: "It seems we're about to reach an agreement!"

“But you have to prove you’re worthy of my following!” Zheko suddenly launched a fierce attack, his scimitar whistling as it slashed towards Lahalo!
Lahalo was prepared and dodged to the side, simultaneously slashing straight at Dzeko's throat with a backhand strike!

Zheko was shocked and tried to raise his knife to block, but it was too late. The blade left a bloody gash on his neck.

He touched his neck and saw the blood on his hand, realizing that Rahalo hadn't really meant it. He casually tucked the scimitar back into his waistband.

"I surrender! Rahalokao, from this day forward, I, Dzeko, am your Blood Guard! I and my Karasa belong to you!"

Rahalo sheathed his scimitar and said solemnly, "I, Rahalo, accept your allegiance, Zhekokao! From this day forward, you will serve as my Blood Guard and share all my glory!"

Dzeko turned and loudly proclaimed to his khalasar, "From this day forward, I, Dzeko, pledge allegiance to Rahalokao and become his Blood Guard! Anyone who objects may leave immediately!"

Not a single rider showed any dissatisfaction; all raised their scimitars in a show of loyalty!
Cheers erupted simultaneously from both khalasas, echoing across the sky. Even Zheko's cavalry raised their scimitars and chanted Rahalo's name. They felt no shame for their khal's surrender; on the contrary, the Dothraki respected the strong, and Zheko's decision was perfectly justified in their eyes.

"What should we do with the Kohor wolf riders?" Zheko asked.

Lahalo turned to the Kohol cavalry in the distance, who probably didn't know what had happened.

The wolf riders didn't actually ride wolves. There were many wolves in the Kohor Forest, and they all wore wolf skins, hence the name wolf riders.

Lajalo turned around and exchanged a glance with Dzeko; the two nodded knowingly.

Not every cavalryman is qualified to be called a wolf rider; I believe they will soon understand this.

Suddenly, Lahallo raised his scimitar and shouted, "Charge the Kohor cavalry! Leave no one alive!"

In an instant, more than 50,000 Slark cavalrymen turned their horses around and surged toward the Kohor wolf riders like a brown torrent!

With 20,000 cavalrymen in the lead and 30,000 cavalrymen in the rear, the mighty army stretched for several kilometers, with banners like a forest, dust covering the sky and the ground trembling!
Upon witnessing this scene, Murki, the commander of the wolf cavalry in the distance, turned deathly pale and nearly fell off his horse.

"Retreat! Retreat!" he shouted hoarsely. "Everyone, retreat immediately!"

However, the city of Kohol was right behind the Dothraki cavalry, sealing off all their chances of escaping back to the city-state!
To the east, one crosses the borders of the nine free states, and in the distance lies only one city: the holy city of Visdothrak!

Dzeko's striker was closing in, his scimitar gleaming in the sunlight. Murki's 10,000 cavalrymen were already fish on a chopping board!
Murkis's expression gradually shifted from terror to despair. Facing an enemy five times their size, especially the fearsome Dothraki light cavalry, it was nothing more than a death throes.

Each Kohor cavalryman arrived beaming, expecting to easily take Lahalo's head back to receive a reward.

But soon, their faces all showed the same expression as Commander Murki, watching helplessly as the Dothraki drew ever closer.

There is only one path waiting for them: to be buried in the wasteland!

Before the 10,000 Kohor wolf riders could escape, they were overwhelmed by the surging Dothraki cavalry.

...

The setting sun, like blood, stained the grass sea with a dark red hue.

A massacre had just ended, the weeds were almost entirely covered with corpses, vultures and crows circled in the sky, and flies buzzed. Of Kohor's ten thousand wolf riders, very few remained.

Four Dothraki cavalrymen escorted a blood-soaked man to Rahalo.

The man was trapped like a dumpling, his face covered in blood, and his left eye was swollen like a peach.

“Kao,” the rider bowed slightly, “we have captured the wolf rider commander, Murki, alive!”

Lahalo sat on a stool, with his blood oath guards beside him: Lazar, Lacaro, old Moso, and Quello. Dzeko was also present. His wounds had been bandaged, and the group was drinking fermented mare's milk from leather bags, chatting and laughing.

"Black Goat God above, I beg you... I still have a wife and three children..." Murki trembled all over and knelt down with a thud. "My life is worthless, but please spare my life for the sake of my wife, children and elderly parents!"

Old Mosso spat contemptuously: "A wolf in sheep's clothing, but a cowardly dog!"

Rahalo glanced at Murki and suddenly said to the group, "Would you like to take over another Free State for fun?"

Upon hearing this, everyone's eyes widened in surprise!

(End of this chapter)