Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 37 True Identity
According to the refugees who escaped from Nightsong City, the horse thieves have been entrenched in the city for several days.

A few days ago, their main force suddenly left, marching out of the city with more than 2,000 horses. The sound of horse hooves was deafening and could still be heard from a distance.

It is said that they went to Censhutan in the northeast, leaving only more than a hundred people to guard the city. The remaining bandits had poor military discipline and allowed these refugees to come and go as they pleased. They also often fought among themselves, and bandits died in every fight.

After piecing together the scattered information, Garland came to a conclusion: the main force of the horse bandits had left the city to plunder, and the defenses in the city were empty!
If this was a trap, deliberately opening the city gate to lure Hewan reinforcements into the city would be a very poor plan.

Even the most elite riders in Westeros can only control two or three war horses at most. To control more than 2,000 horses, at least hundreds or even thousands of people are needed. Such a mobilization cannot be faked.

Then, there are only more than a hundred people left in the city. If the army from Hewan rushes in and the castle has no other way to retreat, this is not a siege to attack the reinforcements, but a trap!

An enemy who could capture Nightsong City would never be so arrogant. There was only one explanation: they had no intention of defending the city at all.

"Sir Garland..." the deputy urged in a low voice.

Garlan no longer hesitated, waving his right hand forward. The scouts sprang into action, hunched over, silently sneaking towards Nightsong City.

The moon was obscured by thick clouds. A moment later, the scout ahead sent a safety signal.

Garland stood up and looked back at the soldiers behind him who were on full alert.

"Go!" he ordered.

Even if it was a trap, these two hundred experienced elite soldiers were enough to eliminate the horse bandits with poor military discipline in the city and control the city gate.

Moreover, they had not discovered the main force of the enemy. Even if the enemy came to reinforce, they could rely on the strong city walls and favorable terrain to hold out for several days and wait for the arrival of the army from the river bend.

Garland was not a man who was greedy for merit and reckless, but Roland and the other captives were in danger of death. Since these ruthless bandits did not ask for a ransom, they might kill them at any time.

Nightsong City had already lost an earl, and he couldn't let Roland follow in his footsteps.

Garlan drew the long sword from his waist and led the soldiers forward steadily, stepping on the softest soil with every step, trying not to make any sound.

They passed through the city gate, and the city was completely silent. Occasionally, the crackling of a bonfire could be heard, and several horse thieves lay drunk on the ground, reeking of alcohol and snoring loudly.

Garland approached cautiously, with a flash of cold light, he raised his hand and swung his sword. Blood spurted out of the throat of a horse thief, and he let out a few indistinct whimpers. After twitching a few times, he stopped moving.

He waved his hand to signal his men to split up and the scouts dispersed silently. Cold lights flashed one after another, and the drunk and sleeping horse thieves fell one after another.

Some had their throats cut, some had their hearts pierced, and most died before they even opened their eyes.

In a short moment, more than twenty horse thieves died silently, and a strong smell of blood spread in the night sky.

Garlan listened carefully, but the city was still quiet, as if nothing had happened.

He squatted beside the corpse, took off the hood of one of the bodies, and examined it carefully in the moonlight.

He thought these were ordinary horse thieves, but the exotic faces in front of him made him frown.

Wheat-colored skin, muscular build, indigo war marks all over his body, long black hair braided with bells that tinkled in the wind.
Dothraki!
He immediately ordered people to check all the bodies, and found that they were all Dothraki!

A chill ran down Garlan's back. The nomads from Essos rarely crossed the Narrow Sea. Why would they appear in Westeros and even go deep into Nightsong City?
However, he couldn't care less now. The arrow was on the string and had to be released. Although the enemy had changed from horse thieves to Dothraki, the goal of saving people remained the same. Gods be upon him, he couldn't let Roland and the innocent captives fall into the hands of these brutal Dothraki!

Now he finally understood that the Dothraki were good at cavalry warfare but not good at defending cities. No wonder the city gates were wide open and military discipline was lax!
The balance of victory has tilted towards him, and the remaining enemies no longer pose a threat.

"Keep moving forward!" Garland raised his blood-stained sword and pointed it towards the inner castle.

Even though the Dothraki are notorious for their evil deeds, he is not afraid. He is the brave Garlan, a knight of the Riverlands. He is fearless and will never retreat when it comes to honor and duty!
This is Westeros, not a place where Dothraki can run wild. He must use the sword in his hand to protect his hometown!

The scout team crossed the street and came to the military ground in front of the inner fort.

A bunch of tents were temporarily set up here. In the open space in the middle, a bonfire was burning, and the smell of barbecue and horse manure filled the air.

A dozen Dothraki were sitting around the fire, shirtless, with muscular bodies and covered with battle marks or scars. They were swallowing bloody barbecued meat, drinking mare's milk, and laughing and playing without restraint.

While drinking, the two Dothraki started arguing for some unknown reason. What started as a shove quickly turned into a bloody fight.

However, the Dothraki who were watching not only did not step forward to stop the fight, but instead cheered loudly with joy.

Garland hid in the shadows, holding his breath and watching all this with an incredible expression on his face. The elite soldiers behind him were all stunned.

Just then, a drunk man staggered towards them, humming an unknown alien tune.

A drop of cold sweat ran down Garland's forehead. He winked at the two men beside him. The three of them nodded and rushed out at the same time.

The Dothraki was startled, and most of his drunkenness dissipated instantly, but he reacted quickly and shouted in a language that Garlan could not understand at all.

"Hash yer dothrae chek? Athjhakar! Who? Intruders!"

Before Garland could get close, the man drew out his scimitar like lightning and chopped it down towards Garland's head.

Garland dodged nimbly to the side, swung his sword backhand, and slashed at the man's knife-wielding arm.

A cold light flashed by, and an arm was cut off at the shoulder, and Atak's scimitar fell to the ground with a clang.

The man groaned, covering his wound and retreating repeatedly. However, he did not lose his fighting ability as quickly as Garlan had imagined. Instead, he cursed him loudly in Dothraki, with a fierce look in his eyes, like a ferocious beast that was ready to devour its prey!
Garland kicked him down with a flying kick, and the sword pierced his chest.

The Dothraki threw away their wine jugs, drew their scimitars with curses, and the two sides began to fight each other!
A Dothraki swung his scimitar, the blade whistling, and slashed at the scout's head, but the blade happened to hit the fine iron guard and was stuck there.

If they were on horseback, it would be easy to use their speed to cut through the armor, but this was a foot battle, and manpower was ultimately limited.

The scout was so frightened that he broke out in a cold sweat and stabbed his stomach with a sword.

Another man swung his whip and wrapped it around the neck of a scout, but the armor protected the vital parts. Although the scout fell, he was not injured. His companions quickly stepped forward to finish off the opponent.

The Dothraki kept shouting and cursing, but Garlan could not understand a word. He only saw faces filled with anger and murderous intent, and brandished scimitars and whips.

(End of this chapter)