Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

"In the second battle, the glory of the Battle of Kohor will be relived. Let me welcome the world's most elite slave army, the iron wall of Kohor—the Unsullied!"

From deep within the gates came the sound of synchronized footsteps, as a hundred Unsullied soldiers marched into the arena in a neat square formation. Clad in black leather armor, wielding spears and shields, their ranks were impeccable, their faces stern. The Unsullied Legion, renowned for its unparalleled discipline and combat prowess, was a legend of invincibility on the battlefield.

"Now, let me present the ruler of the Dothraki Grasslands, the barbarian on horseback, the butcher of the bloody ages, the destroyer of city-states and kingdoms—the centaur!"

The gates on all three sides swung open simultaneously. The deafening sound of hooves and the howls of the Dothraki warriors filled the air as more than 500 Dothraki cavalrymen surged into the arena.

"Where is the centaur I sold you?" O'Ellis asked eagerly.

"Those are the ones with their braids cut off," Pardara pointed to the back of the centaur formation. This group of short-haired centaurs, almost all of them with bruises and swelling, stood out conspicuously in the entire Dothraki cavalry.

"You've taught them a new lesson?" O'Ellis's remaining single eye revealed a strange excitement.

"No, no, no! This is a necessary part of joining a new cast member." Pardara raised an eyebrow, noticing Reed lost in thought, and couldn't help but suggest, "For a newcomer with high moral standards, this is a program you won't feel guilty about. Why don't you watch it?"

Still somewhat bewildered, Reed glanced at the audience and then at the program, saying irritably, "A hundred Unsullied men versus over 500 Slark cavalry? That ratio doesn't make sense. Wasn't the ratio 3:50 during the Battle of Kohol?"

"That's not right, but don't worry, this is just an appetizer. The real show is yet to come." Pardara chuckled, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

As the Dothraki cavalry charged forward, the atmosphere in the arena was instantly ignited. Dust billowed, hooves thundered, and the Dothraki Roaring Warriors, true to their name "centaur," were like a swarm of black lightning in a storm, unleashing their wildness and power.

The Unsullied stood as still as rocks, their spears like a forest of black thorns, awaiting the enemy's charge. The reflections on their shields shimmered in the sunlight, like cold, black scales.

"Look, this is a microcosm of the Battle of Kohol," Pardara said to Reid, pointing to the impending battle in the arena. "The Unsullied will defeat the seemingly invincible Dothraki cavalry with their discipline and courage."

Reed's gaze was fixed on the arena, captivated by the breathtaking scene. "This is far removed from an actual battlefield. The Dothraki lack ranged weapons like bows, slings, and lassos, as well as axes and maces. The space is also extremely limited, making it impossible for their warhorses to accelerate. They're just blindly charging with their scimitars. This is unfair to the Dothraki."

Pardara seemed to be able to guess what Reid was thinking. He chuckled and said, "But don't forget, this isn't a real battlefield where you can retreat. It's an arena where there's no retreat. Once the gates are closed, they're all gladiators. They either kill their opponents or are killed by their opponents. In that sense, it's fair."

"Dothraki, three to one; Unsullied, one to one." Behind the private room, the betting operator was soliciting customers.

Pardara: "How about a bet? One thousand gold coins, you choose first."

"I choose the centaur," Reed said.

"I seduce the Unsullied!" Oilles declared.

"A wise choice!" Pardara patted O'Ellis on the shoulder in approval, then looked at Reid: "I thought you would choose the Unsullied, who had the better odds."

"The Immaculate Ones are strong, but there are too few of them. You must know that on the battlefield, the majority usually defeats the minority."

"The Battle of Kohor is a classic example of a smaller force defeating a larger one!" Pardara offered as an example.

"That was just a rout. Of the three thousand Unsullied, only six hundred remained, and all of them were wounded. The Dothraki still have thirty-eight thousand cavalry. If both sides fight to the death, the Unsullied will be wiped out first."

"War is not a simple mathematical problem!"

"To borrow your words, this is an arena where there is no retreat. I don't know what methods you used to get a Cole to lead this little guy into the arena and fight desperately, but that just simplifies the problem."

As Reed finished speaking, the battle in the arena intensified. The Dothraki let out high-pitched howls, blindfolded their warhorses with painted vests, bled them with scimitars, and pushed their horses to the limit, charging forward in a desperate attempt to break through head-on.

The Unsullied Hundred quickly adjusted their formation to a defensive one against the cavalry. They swiftly planted their spears into the ground, the tips hovering at horse heads, forming a hedgehog-like wall of spears. At the same time, they stacked shields, protecting everyone under the shield wall, preparing to meet the Dothraki cavalry in close combat.

A flicker of surprise crossed Reid's eyes; he hadn't expected the Unsullied to possess such adaptability. Pardara, on the other hand, smiled smugly, as if everything was exactly as he had anticipated.

"See that? That's the true power of the Unsullied. They are not only highly disciplined, but also adept at adapting to changing circumstances," Pardara said to Reid.

"Not necessarily. The one who laughs last laughs best," Reed said confidently.

Pardara shrugged.

The fiercest clash began, with the fearless Dothraki cavalrymen and their horses charging viciously into the spears of the Unsullied, becoming pincushions from the lances. But the raging warhorses and the fearless roaring warriors also broke through the Unsullied's defenses with their lives.

Blood splattered everywhere, the neighing of warhorses and the screams of soldiers mingled together, creating a gruesome battlefield scene. However, the Unsullied seemed to feel no pain; they quickly adjusted their formation, filled the gaps, and continued to repel the Dothraki cavalry charge with their spears and short swords.

In the stands, the audience's reaction was like surging waves, rising and falling in waves. Their eyes gleamed with excitement for the blood, as if they were watching a grand festival.

As the battle between the centaurs and the Unsullied intensified, every swing of a sword, every collision, every howl of a warhorse, and every death on both sides was accompanied by gasps and shouts from the audience.

Some people clenched their fists, their faces beaming with excitement, as if they were on the battlefield, fighting alongside the gladiators.

Some people looked on with fascination, their eyes fixed on the gladiators' bulging muscles, splattering sweat, and splashing blood, their faces flushed an unnatural red.

When they saw the blood gushing out, everyone wore satisfied smiles, smiles that reflected the satisfaction of a long-awaited desire.

Reid's gaze followed every shift on the battlefield. He saw the Unsullied's indifferent eyes, their mechanical discipline in maintaining formation; casualties were approaching thirty percent, yet not a single person slackened or retreated. If these were his own soldiers, he would never have wasted them like this in the arena.

Pardala continued his commentary, his voice filled with pride and smugness: "See that? That's the Unsullied! They are fearless of death, feel no pain, never retreat, they are the perfect army."

"It was indeed perfect, but unfortunately, it was outnumbered."

A hundred-man squad was still too weak. The depth of the four-line formation was insufficient to buffer the berserk cavalry's digging. After enduring the initial heavy casualties, the Dothraki's follow-up echelons, like a chisel, kept breaking into the Unsullied's phalanx. Roaring warriors fell one after another under the Unsullied's spears and short swords, leaving behind corpses and constantly reaping the lives of the Unsullied who tried to plug the gap. The gap grew wider and wider until the formation collapsed, and the Unsullied were powerless to turn the tide.

The Dothraki riders gave the scattered Unsullied no chance to regroup. Like a pack of mad beasts, they charged back and forth among the Unsullied, wielding Arak scimitars and slicing through their enemies' bodies.

Although the Unsullied were well-trained, without their disciplined formation and the cover of their comrades, they could no longer maintain their impressive exchange ratio. Their long spears and short swords, honed over time, could kill enemies in the melee, but could not prevent themselves from being killed by the enemy.

The entire arena had become a living hell, littered with the corpses of horses and men. Fewer and fewer Unsullied remained standing, their eyes still showing no fear or hesitation. They mechanically wielded their spears and swords, fighting on with a disregard for life until the last one fell…

Of the dozens of surviving Dothraki, some dismounted to offer a final act of mercy to their fallen comrades; others hacked furiously at the Unsullied's corpse; still others pounded their blood-soaked chests, raising their Arak scimitars towards the stands, letting out a long, venting howl—a sound like that of hellish demons, echoing long afterward in the arena…

Pardala's face turned ugly. He never expected that his proud Unsullied would be defeated.

The audience, which should have been roaring with cheers, was now completely silent.

After a long while, various sounds erupted from the stands, with some people booing loudly and others cheering and applauding.

"This goes against history!" Pardara exclaimed indignantly.

"No one can rewrite history." Reed said happily, holding the compensation voucher for 4000 gold coins, and handed it to the attendant beside him: "Deliver it to my camp after redemption, preferably to a golden dragon, and the gold coins too..."

"Pfft!" A spear of the Unsullied pierced through the messenger behind him, barely grazing his face, and blood splattered all over Reid's fair face.

After the initial shock, a surge of fear and anger welled up within him. Reed coldly questioned Pardara, "Is this how you treat guests in Meereen? I, an invited guest, almost lost my life in your private room?!"

"This is an accident, this is an accident! Guards! Guards!" Pardara cried out to the guards, his face pale.

However, someone else shouted even louder: "&……！（）&*%￥%）*~~~·····！"

Below the arena near the stands, a burly Dothraki man with bronze skin, bulging muscles, and two broken spears stuck in his shoulder and abdomen, raised his scimitar and pointed it at Reid, unleashing a torrent of rough, powerful Dothraki language that Reid couldn't understand.

What words couldn't convey, facial expressions and body language did: Come down here if you dare!