Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 217 Enemies meet
Krazny, oblivious to Jora's unusual behavior, continued, "How about it? The Wolf King is not bad, is he? He has already killed more than thirty opponents. Unfortunately, the law is merciless, and today is his end."

Jorah was still in shock when the gladiatorial combat in the arena began.

A shirtless tennis fighter with a metal arm guard on his left arm suddenly hurled a large net. Ed managed to dodge it by sidestepping, but the trident arrived in an instant. Ed raised his sword to block, and sparks flew.

The two exchanged another move and switched positions.

The tennis fighter picked up the fishing net, preparing to throw it again. Ed seized the opportunity, rolled forward, and with a flash of cold light, his longsword pierced the tennis fighter's chest, blood spurting out.

Immediately afterwards, two gladiators wielding scimitars and small round shields attacked Ed from the left and right.

The curved blade had a tricky angle, forcing Ed to quickly retreat from the battle to avoid being surrounded.

He took a step to the left, feigning an attack on the enemy on his left, but suddenly turned around, his longsword flashing in a sharp arc, and the gladiator on his right had his neck slashed open, blood gushing out.

His partner, eyes blazing with fury, roared and charged at Ed, his scimitar aimed straight at Ed's left ribs. Ed suddenly crouched down, raising his longsword diagonally upwards, piercing through his opponent's chin.

Ed performed exceptionally well, earning cheers from the audience.

Before Ed could even catch his breath, a gladiator in full heavy armor, wielding a large shield, charged at him like an enraged bull.

However, although his defense was high, his speed was slow. Ed circled him twice, seized the opportunity, and stabbed him in the back of the knee with his sword. The man cried out in pain and fell to his knees. Ed took the opportunity to finish him off with a sword, ending his suffering.

The fifth... the sixth... the seventh...

Ed was exhausted, covered in wounds, sweat mixed with blood dripping down his body, his breathing became rapid, and his sword-wielding arm began to tremble.

But new recruits kept joining in, this time a burly man wielding a double-edged giant axe.

Ed was panting heavily. Knowing he couldn't fight head-on, he picked up the trident that had fallen to the ground and threw it, hitting the man right in the eye socket.

As the man fell, the last heavily armored warrior charged at him, stronger than any of the previous enemies.

He had been waiting, waiting for the moment when Ed would be exhausted, now the speed difference between the two was negligible.

"A clever beast," Ed muttered, wiping the blood from his eyes.

The massive, heavily armored warrior pressed down like a mountain, his large shield in front and his short sword concealed behind. Ed couldn't figure out his moves and could only defend passively.

Just then, the giant suddenly thrust out his sword, aiming straight for Ed's neck. Ed managed to raise his sword to block, but his strength was much weaker than before.

"Ding!"

As the weapons clashed, Ed's hand was torn open, and the longsword flew out of his grasp.

He staggered back a few steps, trying to struggle to his feet, but eventually his strength gave way and he collapsed to his knees on the sand.

The heavily armored warrior walked up behind him, a short sword held between Ed's neck and his arm.

“I admire your perseverance,” a muffled voice came from behind the heavy armored warrior’s mask, “but, I’m sorry, brother.”

Feeling the cold blade pressed against his skin, Ed gave a bitter laugh, closed his eyes, and quietly awaited death.

"stop!"

Krazny roared, stood up, and raised his hands in a gesture of respect, "Great citizens! Now, let us invite our distinguished guest, Sir Jorah, to decide the fate of the Wolf King! Life or death is entirely in your hands!"

Jorah looked at the man in the center of the arena and remembered that night in Winterfell when Eddard coldly read him the death sentence.

He used to be his mortal enemy. But now, he knows what a living Eddard Stark means to Laharo.

At this moment, all the audience looked at Jorah, and Ed also raised his head to look at the Earl of Bear Island, whom he had once sentenced to death.

Jorah stood up, raised his right hand, and slowly curled his thumb upwards.

"pardon!"

His voice echoed in the arena, while the audience booed in disappointment, but no one dared to disobey the VIP's wishes.

“You are so kind.” Krazny smiled broadly.

“This man is quite interesting.” Jorah turned to the benefactor. “Since he is a death row inmate, he probably has no use to me. Can you give him to me? I’ll pay for him.”

“Not at all, not at all, talking about money is too formal!” Krazny readily agreed. “You are our most honored guest, what is a mere gladiator?”

Ed was led away by the guards, and he glanced back at Jorah one last time.

Ah, how ironic fate is. After so many years, their fates have been reversed, and his life and death are now in the hands of his enemy.

As night fell, Jorah arrived at the dungeon where Ed was imprisoned.

The two stared at each other across the iron fence for a long time without saying a word, and an awkward atmosphere filled the air.

"I never imagined that the Duke of Winterfell would fall to such a state." Jorah finally spoke up. After all, he was her savior; a few words of verbal sparring weren't too much to ask.

Ed ignored his taunts, clinging to the iron cage, and asked urgently, "My family, my daughters..."

“As far as I know, your family is still alive, except Sansa is imprisoned and Arya is missing,” Jorah said. “But I know that you can only find the answers by going to Laharo.”

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Krazny walked in.

"Sir Jorah, the Unsullied are ready. Five thousand of the finest warriors will serve the great Rahalokao."

The next morning, Ed was also released, and Jorah gave him a horse so he could join the caravan.

As Astapo gradually disappeared on the horizon, Ed felt a mix of emotions.

...

More than 30,000 Slark warriors kicked up clouds of dust on the steppe. Their stirrups and high-bridged saddles made them as steady as mountains during high-speed charges, and their Atak scimitars, forged from fine steel, were indestructible.

Ten four-pound cannons could be pulled by only twenty horses, making them lightweight and agile, and would not hinder the marching speed at all. The advent of artillery completely overturned the Dothraki people's understanding of warfare.

When Lahalo's vanguard appeared on the horizon, the other scouts of the khalasars rushed back to their camps. Fear spread like a plague across the grasslands. Many khao, without even having time to assemble, led their people to Lahalo's khalasars, offering warhorses and slaves in exchange for protection.

Rahalo's name had long been known throughout the Grasslands. Drogo, Fogo, Zheko, and many other famous Khals had either died or surrendered under his command. Moreover, he had defeated the largest city-state, Braavos, and ruled over two other city-states. These were unprecedented feats in the history of the Dothraki.

However, not all Khals chose to submit. Some Khals questioned Lahalo's betrayal of tradition, but they were quickly taught a lesson by the volley of cannon fire.

Artillery fire rained down on the ground, and the cavalry continued their advance, trampling over corpses. After witnessing all this, Khal, who had been siding with the enemy all along, did not hesitate to surrender. At least 70,000 warriors joined the Karasa of Lahalo, bringing his forces to an unprecedented 120,000.

Finally, the khalasar of Lahalo arrived at Vis Dothraki, the most sacred city in the hearts of the Dothraki.

(End of this chapter)