Chapter 116: Provocation

However, the last sentence was added by the translator on their own, because they wanted to live and did not want to die.

Upon hearing the Dothraki's demand, Viserys was momentarily stunned, then quickly reacted, and a smile appeared on his handsome face.

"Alright."

"I accept your challenge."

The young king then stood up, took a longsword from a guard, and gestured for the guards surrounding the bloodrider, Qotho, to back off.

The guards, seeing their king agree so readily, had no choice but to comply. However, they didn't have much to worry about when it came to Viserys.

In Andalos, everyone knew the title 'Silver Prince' that belonged to Viserys.

This title once belonged to Viserys's older brother, Rhaegar Targaryen. But now, it was also bestowed upon Viserys, and the story of the young king killing at the age of seven was praised as a representation of ruthlessness and martial prowess.

Because Viserys was still underage, people had a habit of calling him 'Prince.'

However, it was evident that Viserys's fame was limited to the Andalosian plains and perhaps spread to the surrounding free-trade city-states, such as Pentos, Braavos, and Norvos, along with merchant caravans.

The Dothraki were not among them, believing that all warriors came from the Great Grass Sea, and held a disdainful attitude towards other groups.

With the restrictions lifted, Qotho of Khal Drogo's bloodriders slightly stretched his shoulders, and then circled his neck, the joints making cracking noises.

He was surprised, thinking that the young man would never dare accept his challenge and that it was just a futile attempt before death. But since the youth had the courage to accept his challenge...

Qotho's eyes darkened, flashing with a ruthless glint. He didn't want to die, and no one wanted to die.

What he was thinking now was to kidnap the young man during the fight and use the opportunity to escape.

This was the only way he could survive in Ghis.

Even more, he could take the youth directly to Khal Drogo, earning great merit, perhaps even getting a few beautiful...

The more Qotho thought about it, the more viable it seemed. And it all stemmed from the youth's overconfidence.

At his age, he would have only just qualified to become a Dothraki warrior in the tribe. Did he really think that having guards around him would ensure his safety?

Qotho, one of Drogo's bloodriders, was no weakling. His hands were incredibly dexterous, able to wield two arakhs simultaneously and accurately slit an enemy's throat.

Thus, Qotho was confident in his abilities. He wouldn't kill the young man; he believed he could capture him alive.

Qotho challenged Viserys, and the guards pushed another Dothraki aside, clearing the center space.

Fortunately, Viserys's tent was large enough, otherwise, there wouldn't even be room to fight.

Finally, the bloodrider stretched his wrists and drew his arakh from his waist, then pounced, letting out a strange roar.

"Roar—"

The young bloodrider swung his blade directly at Viserys's neck, while the elegant silver-haired youth stood still, holding his sword with one hand and calmly looking at the charging opponent with his pale purple eyes.

With a swift movement, Viserys effortlessly dodged the incoming strike.

"Huh?"

Qotho stumbled forward, pausing for a moment, surprised that Viserys had dodged the attack so easily, avoiding it just at the right moment.

Was it a coincidence?

The enraged expression returned to Qotho's face, and like an angered beast, he roared and charged again, wielding his curved blade.

But once more, Viserys deftly evaded the assault.

"What's going on..."

Qotho was no fool.

By now, he had realized that Viserys wasn't as easy to handle as he had imagined. A sense of unease crept into his heart, and an ominous feeling began to rise.

Qotho tightly gripped his arakh, staring intently at the 'Silver Prince.' The pressure inside him increased, his breathing grew heavier, and his chest heaved.

Huff~

Huff~

He swore to himself that this time, he would catch Viserys's dodging moves.

Soon after, Qotho, the right-hand man of Khal Drogo, let out another roar and charged at Viserys for the third time, full of fury.

This time, Viserys decided not to toy with the Dothraki warrior any longer. His pale purple eyes reflected the hysterical figure of his opponent.

Once again, he nimbly dodged Qotho's attack, and with a single hand gripping the guard's longsword, he struck out.

Thud—

Viserys's sword landed on Qotho's wrist, the one holding the arakh, severing his right hand. Blood gushed out, and the curved blade fell to the ground with the severed hand, creating a clattering noise.

Clang clang—

The battle in the tent was easy and enjoyable.

Viserys was toying with Qotho, and every guard present could see it. They had already set their minds at ease.

Qotho, like a cornered beast, desperately tried to struggle, but in the end, Viserys cut off one of his hands with a single stroke.

The intense pain of having a hand cut off in battle suddenly erupted, overwhelming Qotho's mind like a tidal wave.

In an instant, the Dothraki man's eyes bulged, cold sweat slid down his forehead, and the muscles on his cheeks twitched.

"Ahh—"

Qotho let out a pained roar and collapsed to the ground, kneeling.

His remaining hand tightly grasped his now-bare arm, blood still pouring out. His expression twisted in agony.

Viserys, looking at Qotho's painful state, showed no mercy this time. He gripped the bloody sword with both hands and raised it high once more.

Thud—

The next second.

Blood sprayed like a fountain, reaching the top of the tent.

Gurgle gurgle—

Khal Drogo's bloodrider Qotho's head rolled onto the ground.

At that moment.

"Prince Oberyn."

A guard's voice came from outside Viserys's tent.

Oberyn lifted the tent's curtain and walked in, just in time to witness the bloody scene of Viserys cutting off the bloodrider's head with his final strike.

Oberyn looked up, slightly surprised, at Viserys, who had killed a man without even blinking.

He saw Viserys hand the blood-stained sword back to one of the guards and take a cloth to wipe his hands.

Oberyn was silent for a moment, seemingly contemplating something. Finally, he asked,

"It seems you want to provoke Khal Drogo."

"Why?"