Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 195 The Zhuangzhuang Mercenary Group is Established
As they drew closer, they revealed themselves to be wearing a variety of armors and wielding different weapons, clearly indicating a mercenary group comprised of several smaller squads.

The leader was a burly man with a full beard, wearing chainmail and a broadsword hanging at his waist.

He reined in his horse, glanced around at Rahalo and the others, a cruel smile playing on his lips, and shouted, "Hey, you Dothraki! We spotted this Heracla first! According to the rules, hand over your prey, and we might spare your lives!"

Lahalo, Oberon, and the others looked at each other, then burst into laughter at the same time.

"Is there such a rule on the Grass Sea?" he asked. "I only know that whoever has the faster knife gets the prey."

The bearded man's face darkened. "They don't know what's good for them! Brothers, kill them, and Heraca is ours!"

A single Heracles pelt could be worth at least a thousand gold coins, enough to attract the covetous eyes of others.

More than a hundred mercenaries were instantly enraged and charged at them with shouts.

However, although there were only about twenty of them, each of them was an elite force, one in a hundred. Not to mention Rahalo, Lazar, Oberon, and Garan were all undoubtedly world-class warriors, not to mention the giant Sothros who liked to eat raw intestines.

"This time, I'll let you go first!"

Before Lahalo could finish speaking, Lazar charged forward with a roar, raising his scimitar without fear.

Garland spurred his horse and followed closely behind. Oberon's spear was even more deadly; anyone wounded by its tip would die in agony.

Dazhuang, on the other hand, was like a raging beast; wherever his warhammer struck, bones broke and tendons snapped.

The battle lasted less than half an hour, including the time spent chasing the remaining enemies. Corpses lay scattered on the grass, and only five or six people were still alive, kneeling on the ground trembling.

Oberon used his spear to lift the chin of a prisoner. "Speak," he said, "why are you mercenaries in the depths of the Grass Sea?"

The prisoner was a young Reissian, his purple eyes filled with fear. "My lord, we... we have received a conscription order."

"A conscription order?" Rahalo asked with interest. "Who issued the conscription order?"

"It's High Priest Jacob!" the Rissian trembled. "He's spent a fortune hiring every mercenary group he could find, gathering them in the Andalus Mountains north of the Velvet Hills, preparing to attack Kohor!"

A cold glint flashed in Rahalo's eyes. Jacob really hasn't given up his evil intentions. He wants to restore the monarchy. Has he asked him?
Garland interjected, "Besides Jacob, is there anyone else? Was Braavos involved?"

The prisoner, Ries, shook his head. "Also, there's General Ferro Antalion of the Braavos Army. He's in charge of the Braavos Army. I heard they've already amassed 20,000 regular troops and tens of thousands of mercenaries!"

Lahalo paused for a moment, then suddenly turned to his companions. "Gentlemen, it seems we'll have to change our plans for the hunt."

"What are you trying to do?" Oberon vaguely sensed that Rahalo must have some kind of conspiracy!
Rahalo grinned, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth.

"Since the High Priest is recruiting mercenaries, why don't we apply?"

"What?" Garan's eyes widened in surprise. "We only have twenty-odd people, but they have tens of thousands of troops!"

“How about we act as scouts?” Rahalo said. “Don’t worry, no one will suspect anything! We’ve brought nothing but the Shield of Pentos this time.”

"There are only Lazar and I among the Dothraki. Besides, we're just a small mercenary group; what threat could we pose to an army of tens of thousands?"

Oberon seemed thoughtful, then curled his lip. "I don't believe you! Are you a scout? You're just here to cause trouble!"

Laharo raised an eyebrow at Oberyn. "Enough talk, Lord Red Viper, do you want to join?" "Join! Of course I'll join!" A slow, smirk appeared on Red Viper's lips. "Staying in Dorne is making me moldy!"

"Hahaha," Lajalo patted Oberyn Martell on the shoulder, "That was great!"

Da Zhuang scratched his head. "Whoever Kao says he'll kill, I'll kill!"

"Good!" Rahalo waved his hand. "From today onwards, the Strong Brotherhood is officially established! Lord Red Viper, you're the oldest here, how about you take on the role of leader for a while?"

Upon hearing this, Da Zhuang immediately puffed out his chest, feeling proud of himself.

...

Ten days later, fifty kilometers north of Velvet Hills.

From a distance, the Braavos military camp looks like a mobile city, with countless tents densely packed on the hills, and the purple Neptune trident banner fluttering in the wind.

Lahalo and his group blended in with the numerous mercenary groups, slowly riding towards the military camp, completely inconspicuous.

“Remember this,” Oberon whispered, “we are now the Brotherhood of Strong Men, and I am the leader, Redhand Karl. Lord Kal, I’ll have to trouble you to be my second-in-command. Garan is the treasurer, Lazar is the cavalry sergeant major, and Big Strong is my bodyguard.”

“I am Kao’s bodyguard!” Da Zhuang corrected.

"Shut up and don't say a word!"

Laha gave the order, and Dazhuang indeed shut his mouth, but still followed Laha closely.

As they spoke, the twenty-five men arrived at the checkpoint at the entrance to the military camp. Several Braavos soldiers were verifying the identities of each mercenary group. When it was Laharo's turn, an officer approached them.

"Which mercenary group are you from?" the officer asked, wearing a Braavos-style purple robe with a Neptune trident badge on his chest.

“The Strong Brotherhood,” Prince Oberon said without batting an eye, “I am the captain, Redhand Karl. We come from the East, having heard that Braavos is recruiting warriors.”

The officer looked them up and down. "What place in the East? You don't look like mercenaries."

“We come from Iban Port and were originally merchants. These men were my guards, but our merchant ship sank in a storm, and we lost everything.” Oberon touched the bun on his forehead and grinned. “Give us the Golden Dragon, and we’ll do any job.”

His explanation immediately dispelled the officer's suspicions. Oberon's long-cultivated air of authority did indeed make him seem unlike an ordinary mercenary, but there were at least several hundred mercenary groups of all sizes here, and no one could recognize who was who.

"Iban Port, the Strong Brotherhood..." The officer took out a small notebook and began to write, then looked up and glanced at the crowd, "How many people?"

"Twenty-five people."

The officer closed his notebook. "Very good. You are assigned to the Seventh Battalion, which mainly houses small mercenary groups. Remember, no trouble is allowed in the camp, and no harassment of other mercenaries. Anyone who disobeys will be killed without exception."

“Understood.” Oberon took a bronze temporary pass. “When do we go to the battlefield?”

"Don't ask questions you shouldn't ask!" The officer glared at Oberon. "General Ferro will convene a meeting of all regimental commanders in three days to announce the battle plan. Until then, you all need to rest well and maintain your fighting strength."

(End of this chapter)