Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

As night approached, the Lazarin people of Hesi delivered cartloads of horse feed, vegetables, barley, wine, and sheep as promised.

The military leader humbly invited Reid's army to take over the city's defenses, speaking earnestly and sincerely, and even brought a parchment map, marking the defenses of the small city with the precision of embroidery.

Looking at the system icon, which was orange-yellow in the morning but has now turned into a red dot with strong hostility, Reed slowly narrowed his eyes.

"Dark".

"His Majesty."

Dark Thorstoy. Nicknamed "Fat Pig". Skilled with a chain mace and also adept at herding. Reid previously entrusted him with the administration of Kael'thas, expanding farmland, pastures, and weapons workshops. He is now Reid's second-in-command on his eastern expedition.

"Take five hundred men to take over the city's defenses. Don't disperse your forces. Be careful of those high-ranking members of the Hercynian government," Reed instructed him in his ear.

"?"

"They're up to something."

"Just kill him directly, why bother with all this trouble?" Dark stared at the somewhat dim-witted boar with a puzzled expression.

Reed rolled his eyes in annoyance. Sometimes, a bad straight man can really ruin your aura of strategic brilliance and decisive victory.

"A small country with a small population, yet it has the audacity to cause trouble. Aren't you curious about who the troublemaker is?"

"You mean...?"

"I don't know either, but that doesn't stop us from cooperating with their performance."

The following day, after successfully taking control of the defenses of Hersey, Reid led 2500 cavalrymen on a continued advance toward Koslach.

……

At the same time, on the north bank of the Skazadan River, inside a large yurt made of woven straw mats.

The Hessian messenger knelt on the ground in a sorry state, bowing his head before Hagrocao.

The tall, newly-ascended Dothraki Khao, whose body was covered in blue paint and whose braids were adorned with bronze bells symbolizing victory, sat in the main seat, slowly and methodically picking meat from a lamb leg bone with an exquisite dagger in his hand.

"If the great Khao is willing to take action and kill those cowards in iron armor, Hessie is willing to offer three thousand fat sheep, fifty carts of grain, five carts of iron ore and bronze, two carts of gold and silver, plus seven hundred slaves."

"Khao, kill him! This despicable sheep-man tries to manipulate you with money!"

"Kao, the Lazarin people are our granary and sheepfold; we must not let them fall into the hands of that Dragon King!"

"That Dragon King has already killed two Grassland Khao, he is the mortal enemy of Dothraki!"

"But why should we fight for these sheep-people?"

Hagro ignored the noisy commotion between Ko and the Blood Oath Guard, lost in thought as he rubbed the dagger in his hand. "Hoto? Repeat what you know."

A roaring warrior, his face half-covered in grotesque burns, stepped forward, his voice hoarse: "Karakhao once ambushed the evil army of the Dragon King beneath the walls of Meereen. The first wave lured the enemy into ambush, the second wave Khao himself led the charge. A full fifteen thousand roaring warriors… half perished in the dragon's flames, or were taken prisoner. Our Arak scimitars couldn't pierce their iron armor, but their weapons—" He abruptly drew his Arabian scimitar from his waist, the graceful curve of the blade reflecting the cold gleam of steel, illuminating his eyes filled with rage and resentment. "...could easily slit a warhorse's neck, slice open a roaring warrior's chest, and sever our wrists that grip the blade."

Are you afraid?

"As long as Káo commands a battle, I will follow your warhorse forever."

"Are you afraid, my bandits?"

"We will follow your charging figure until our dying breath."

"Are you afraid, my own blood?"

"Wherever Kao goes, we will fight there!"

"Doshicarin of Mount Virgin prophesied that I would ride the world's steed, and that black dragon would be my greatest enemy in this life."

Hagro slowly rose, sheathing his dagger, which was stained with sheep fat, and casually wiped the grease off his fingers on his muscular chest. "I used to think their words were just nonsense, but if any Khao could lead ten thousand Karas back to the World's Womb Lake and back to Mount Our Lady, they would all offer the same prophecy."

"But they were right about one thing—that evil dragon king riding a black dragon is not only my greatest enemy in this life, but also the mortal enemy of all Dothraki!"

"I could clearly sense his malice towards the Grass Sea. Since he occupied Meereen, we have been unable to exchange prisoners of war, cattle, sheep, gold, and silver for enough food for our tribe. He was stingy with gifts, so the spoils we risked our lives to plunder could not buy back the supplies our people depended on for survival."

"He supplied weapons to the weak Kas and the broken Karas, making the civil war on the steppes even more brutal and bloody, and making the annexation and integration of Karas increasingly difficult. In the past, the deaths of dozens of people could determine a bandit, and the blood of hundreds of people could give birth to a great Khao; but now, hundreds and thousands of people bleed every day, and no new Khao rises in the grasslands."

"I have seen countless cowards who use iron-forged Arak scimitars to ambush the heads of their own kind; I have seen countless villains who shoot powerful warriors with iron arrows, yet none of them dare to stand tall and fight honorably as a Dothraki Roaring Warrior."

"And now, his greedy eyes have set their sights on our sheepfold and granary. Everyone knows that we Dothraki are the ones who rob others; today, someone dares to rob us!"

Anger erupted within the tent, and the roaring warriors gripped their sword hilts tightly, their bare chests heaving violently.

Hagrokao stood in the tent, his blue painted patterns on his body resembling the stripes of a ferocious beast in the firelight, his anger surging. He surveyed his enraged subordinates, his voice low and savage, brimming with fury and battle intent: "Do you all feel this naked malice? The Dothraki Grasslands are wailing! The World's Womb Lake is weeping!"

A Blood Alliance guard stepped forward, his roar shaking the straw mats on the tent roof: "Wherever Khao's warhorse charges, we will fight to the death!"

Hagro wiped the grease from his mouth, grinned, revealing his pearly white canines. "Give the order—feed the warhorses, sharpen the scimitars, and command all the Cass to assemble on the riverbank. We will personally slay those cowards clad in iron armor!"

……

On the march to Koslak.

Rhed was also eating mutton. Unlike the barren lands of the lower reaches of the Skazadan River and the Meereen region, which are filled with salt and red sand, the land in Lazarin is lush with water and grass. The scene of "the wind blowing the grass low to reveal cattle and sheep" in the poem is also common here. Near the Dothraki Grassland, in some places the grass is even taller than the riders on horseback.

The sheep raised on such lush pastures taste absolutely delicious. A milky white mutton soup simmering in a cooking pot, poured over broken pieces of dry bread, sprinkled with wild onions, a little salt, and a pinch of pepper, is an unparalleled delicacy.

The cavalry captain in charge of escorting the logistics team rode in to report: "The feed given to the horses by the Lazarin people is indeed problematic. The sheep ate it for three days. They showed no symptoms for the first two days, but this morning they started convulsing, foaming at the mouth, and struggling to breathe. Four out of ten sheep have died today."

Reed, holding his battlefield-style mutton stew, blew on the steam rising from the rim of the bowl, then slurped up a few mouthfuls of broth before finally replying, "Where are the horses? Didn't I tell you to pick a couple to pull the cart and give them a try?"

"We started feeding them after we left Hersey, and the horses were in the same condition after eating them. They didn't die, but both horses couldn't walk anymore."

"Then today is probably the day they start their schemes, those Zhalalin guides and laborers?"

"It's under control."

"Kill them. Halt the entire army and rest on the spot. Don't be stingy with the horse feed we brought; feed it all to the warhorses. Everyone eat until they are 80% full. The battle is coming soon."

"Yes, ma'am."

After leisurely finishing the food in his bowl, Reed put it down, took off his chainmail hood, put on a Lei Feng hat, pulled down and tied the veil covering his face, put on his goggles, and hung the Mill Eyes around his neck.

With this hot soup, we won't be afraid of the cold wind at high altitudes.

With a whistle, the Night Fury obediently lowered its wings, climbed up the dragon saddle along the wings, and then rode the dragon into the sky.

Having dragons is great! Besides being able to burn things, scare people, and move quickly, a dragon that flies high is also a small satellite.

At a height of 1,000 meters above the ground, the scenery within a 20-mile radius is fully visible; at 2,000 meters, the entire area within a 30-mile radius is visible. Although at this height, the color of a single target blends into the complex colors of the environment, making it difficult to distinguish with the naked eye, it would be very conspicuous to a large, dark mass of cavalry marching for miles.

In fact, when Reed flew to an altitude of 1,000 meters, he saw the unusual activity in the grassland about 5 miles away. Large numbers of warhorses trampled and fell in the tall grass, and Dothraki cavalrymen were intermittently seen trotting out. The exact number of them was not clear at the moment, but based on their direction and speed, Reed's horse archers would enter the battle range in about an hour.

"Let me give you something extra," Reed said with a wicked grin, as he steered the Night Fury downwind towards the Dothraki.

Their massive forms cast chilling black shadows on the ground, and the flapping of their wings whipped up gusts of wind across the sea of ​​grass. Countless towering stalks and leaves lay prostrate on the ground, revealing the panicked cavalry.

"Hiss!"

The dragon's roar in mid-air shook the heavens and the earth.

Many of the poorly trained warhorses instantly lost their courage, their ears pressed tightly back, their hooves pawing the ground uncontrollably, their nostrils flaring as they neighed wildly, refusing to move forward no matter how much the riders pulled on the reins, shouted, or kicked their bellies.

Some warhorses suddenly reared up, throwing their riders violently to the ground; some charged sideways recklessly; and others spun around in extreme fear. The originally orderly advancing cavalry broke into considerable chaos.

Shouts and neighing of horses rose and fell, and panic spread rapidly through the ranks like a plague. Before the dragon's flames had even subsided, the Dothraki cavalry, known for their bravery, had already been torn apart by the dragon's oppressive power, creating a rift of terror.

"Dragon Flame!"

A pillar of eerie blue fire crashed down onto the ground.

The dragonfire did not land on the advancing Dothraki cavalry, but instead landed on the downwind grassland.

"What does he want to do?" Hotto asked, his face grim.

Hagro stared intently at the black dragon that was constantly spewing dragonfire.

Although it was lush green grass in the height of summer, its stems and leaves brimming with moisture, the moisture was instantly and violently evaporated under the terrifying extreme heat of the dragon flames, turning into white mist and dissipating in an instant. The old, withered grass and humus clinging to the ground were the first to be ignited, and sparks spread wildly through the gaps in the grass, quickly setting off a raging wall of fire that stretched across the plain.

The heatwave radiated outwards with terrifying force, drying and scorching the grass that had not yet been licked by the flames, before it burst into flames.

Hagro noticed the direction in which the grass blades were being blown by the wind, and combined this with the rising wall of fire in the distance, the solemnity on his face quickly turned into terror.

"Run! Run southwest!"

Although the southeast winds in the height of summer were weak, they still helped the fire spread.

A gentle southeasterly breeze blew, softly pushing the flames northwestward. The fire, unhurried yet relentlessly advancing, continued its steady advance. The wild grass at the edge of the fire wall, not yet directly licked by the flames, rapidly turned yellow, curled, and charred under the intense heat radiation, then burst into flames, propelling the fire wall ever forward, engulfing and expanding it.

With the wind at its back, the sea of ​​fire advanced twenty or thirty yards every quarter of an hour with explosive bursts of flame, the crackling sounds of burning were incessant, and thick smoke carrying heat waves swept towards the Dothraki.

The fire spread much slower than the Dothraki horses galloping, but panic spread faster than the sound of hooves.

All the Dothraki warhorses, and their riders, who smelled the pungent smoke, increased their speed in unison.

What started as a slow, leisurely jog has unknowingly turned into a high-speed run, almost as fast as a full-speed sprint on the battlefield, rapidly depleting its power.

The instinct for survival overwhelmed everything. They frantically urged their horses on, wanting only to escape the inferno that was burning everything. Their speed increased, and the entire group was in complete chaos.

Reid swooped down on Night Fury, its dark wings sweeping over the heads of the panicked crowd. The scorching blue dragon flames rushed straight at the fleeing cavalry, instantly engulfing the horses and men who couldn't dodge. Screams and neighing mingled with the crackling of the flames.

Reid did not simply slaughter, but circled the fleeing ranks, sometimes diving down, sometimes flying sideways. Wherever the dragon flames reached, new seas of fire ignited, shattering the already chaotic Dothraki formation.

A ball of fire in the east and a wall of fire in the west cut off the Dothraki's escape route, leaving the desperate group like headless flies, frantically rushing towards their predetermined direction amidst flames and thick smoke.

Whenever someone slowed down, Reed would use dragonfire to encourage them.

Panic and fear are far more deadly than sharp blades and dragon flames.

The fleeing Dothraki cavalry were gripped by utter fear. Discipline collapsed, formations crumbled, and judgment was lost.

The usually fearless and roaring warriors were now pale-faced, neighing and whipping their warhorses into a frenzy. Some had disheveled hair and crooked leather armor, while others were choked by the thick smoke and coughing violently, yet they dared not slow down even a step.

The warhorses were completely out of control. The animals' natural fear of fire was amplified in the noisy environment. They reared up, neighed, and charged at each other. The riders held on tightly to the reins, their eyes filled with terror at the sea of ​​fire. Their former bravery had vanished. The entire group was like a pack of prey being hunted, only concerned with fleeing for their lives.

The casualties caused by trampling and scrambling to escape were greater than those killed by dragon flames and fire.