Chapter 535: Slaughter

In an ideal world, the situation seemed perfect. However, the real scenario depicted the vast army of the Riverlands as cumbersome due to its overwhelming size. The command systems of this era were woefully outdated.

Varys hastily ordered a retreat, facing the approaching enemy. Yet, it would take some time before all soldiers could receive and act on this order.

Soldiers at the forefront were still engaging the remnants of the Dornish army, oblivious to the looming danger behind them.

Rearward troops, primarily green boys and untrained new recruits, struggled to form ranks on Varys' orders. While some in the center managed to set up a spear and shield formation, those on the flanks remained in disarray. Some soldiers, wielding spears, looked around in confusion, unsure of their position.

The Dothraki, however, allowed no time for reorganization. They charged without giving the fresh soldiers a chance to find their positions.

"Ohhhh!"

Under the glaring sun, they brandished their arakhs, howling like wolves, charging from every direction.

The speed of the Dothraki charge was staggering. When Varys first spotted them, they were mere specks on the horizon, but within moments, they were upon them.

"For the Dragon Khal!"

"For Khaleesi!"

Having witnessed Daenerys riding a massive dragon to victory, the Dothraki revered strength. To them, Daenerys was nearly as respected as Viserys, considered a deity by these superstitious horse lords.

"Slay these men in iron clothes!"

"Tear down their stone houses!"

Khal Drogo unsheathed his Valyrian steel arakh, bellowing with rage.

"Hold the line!"

"Stand firm!"

From the battlements of Harrenhal, Varys drew his sword and shouted.

Soon, like a rising tide, the endless Dothraki horde crashed into the Riverlands' formation.

Boom, boom, boom!

Blindfolded warhorses rammed into the Riverlands' shield wall. Spears impaled them, eliciting agonized whinnies, but the sheer force of their charge disrupted the formation, scattering soldiers like leaves in the wind.

Dothraki riders thrown from their mounts met quick deaths, skewered by a sea of spears, their bodies pooling in their own blood.

Yet, this was only the first wave of the Dothraki onslaught. Wave after wave of horse lords, showing no fear of death, continued to crash against the shield wall, tearing it apart.

The Dothraki believed that warriors who died in battle would become stars in the sky, while cowards did not deserve such an honor.

"Kill this man in iron clothes!"

On the chaotic battlefield, a seasoned bloodrider expertly wielded a lasso.

Seizing an opportunity, he threw it, ensnaring a Riverlands knight bearing the crest of House Clegane around his neck.

With a swift pull, the Clegane knight was yanked off his horse, and dragged away like discarded prey.

This all happened so swiftly that no one could assist. This sudden disruption created a gap in the Riverlands' formation.

"Ohhhh!"

Cheering for their successful bloodrider, more Dothraki surged through the breach, widening it further.

The unfortunate Clegane knight was trampled under countless hooves, his armor crushed, blood spewing from his mouth, dying amidst desperate screams.

Outside the city, war raged as the Dothraki attacked.

Yet, Dornish forces still held key positions within Harrenhal, including the central tower.

Lord Anders Yronwood of Dorne, who had been on the brink of despair, saw hope.

"When one door closes, another opens."

Lord Yronwood, his hair grayer than the night before, felt rejuvenated at the sight of the Dothraki horde. He closed and then reopened his eyes with newfound determination.

"Counter-attack!"

"Tell all our soldiers, reinforcements have arrived!"

With that, the beleaguered Dornish forces burst from the castle.

"Charge!"

Together with the Dothraki, they recreated the Battle of Highgarden, trapping the Riverlands' army in a deadly pincer.

Elsewhere, Lord Titus Peake of Harrenhal led his men to rescue his wife but tragically fell to his death during a duel with his distant cousin, Laswell Peake.

Varys Tyrell, heir to Highgarden and a scholarly man who frequented the Citadel and studied under Maester Naemos, realized the dire situation. Despite Naemos' vast knowledge of military strategy, he had never led a single soldier. Varys, his student, had successfully defended Highgarden once, but now, faced an unpredictable situation.

The battlefield turned chaotic as the Riverlands' forces were scattered by the Dothraki onslaught. The Dornish, seizing the opportunity, joined the fray. The combined forces obliterated the Riverlands' soldiers.

"It's over," Varys realized, the cold truth setting in.

"Garlan, ensure father and Loras escape."

With heavy heart, Varys leaned against the battlements, making a painful decision. Without looking back, he whispered hoarsely.