Chapter 124: Ominous Premonition

The soldiers of Andaros believed that even the strongest warrior couldn't win against overwhelming numbers, let alone when they weren't mere lambs waiting to be slaughtered.

However, they overestimated the gap between themselves and the greatest mounted warrior in the world. The difference between them and sheep wasn't all that much.

Whoosh...

Drogo's eyes were calm and unwavering, and the heavy curved blade in his hand cleaved through the air with a powerful gust, cutting through an Andaros soldier's throat cartilage and severing his head.

The head rolled away, and blood sprayed out instantly.

Meanwhile, in the chaotic battlefield, Drogo fought one against five.

Clang—

The sound of metal grinding.

An Andaros soldier tried to stab Drogo with his longsword but was evaded as Drogo's blade killed another soldier.

The longsword scraped against Drogo's bronze belt, sending sparks flying.

"Hmm..."

The mighty Dothraki warrior breathed heavily, like thunder, his dark eyes fully immersed in the battle. He was surrounded by the remaining five Andaros soldiers.

Blades clashed and swords danced.

Drogo's long braid whipped to the side, narrowly avoiding a sweeping strike from one of the soldiers.

Tss—

However, his braid didn't completely dodge the attack and was inadvertently cut by the Andaros soldier, severing a small section, which fell to the ground with a thud.

"Khal!"

Silent Hago, witnessing this, clenched his curved blade tightly.

Any warrior would struggle against multiple opponents, as they only had two eyes, and their enemies were not unarmed peasants but battle-hardened soldiers.

To Hago, Drogo's actions seemed overly confident and reckless.

"Drogo!"

Cohollo, who owed Drogo a life debt from their childhood, also wanted to unsheathe his blade and join the fray.

"Hmm..."

"Ohos..."

But the two bloodriders, eager to join the battle, were stopped by Drogo's raised hand and a word in Dothraki.

The fearsome Dothraki warrior retreated a few steps, breaking free from the encirclement of Andaros soldiers.

His gaze then fell on the severed section of his braid on the ground, and his deep, dark eyes narrowed slightly.

The Dothraki were extremely superstitious, and a broken braid signified defeat. He felt that this might be an ill omen.

Huff~

Drogo's breathing was somewhat heavy.

Nevertheless...

"Kill him!"

The Andaros soldier who had just barely missed Drogo's head, only severing a piece of his braid, felt encouraged.

Seeing the strong Dothraki warrior retreat, the morale of the remaining five Andaros soldiers surged.

They believed that their enemy was afraid and sought to press their advantage to kill the three Dothraki.

The Andaros soldiers charged again, aiming to kill Drogo, who finally came to his senses, turned his gaze from the severed braid on the ground, and looked at the Andaros soldiers, his dark, deep eyes gradually burning with anger and determination.

Like an enraged lion, he let out a low, rumbling roar.

"Roar—"

...

Then the terrifying Dothraki warrior swung his bloodstained arakh, the heavy blade whipping through the air as he evaded an attack from a soldier.

Swish—

He then struck another soldier at the waist, cleaving the body in midair and slicing it in half.

Clang clang—

His muscular form twisted agilely, the arakh in his hand severing a spear, killing the enemy as easily as chopping vegetables.

Thud—

Next, his powerful arm clamped down on a longsword, the bicep and forearm muscles holding the sword so the enemy couldn't stab or pull it away.

He then turned his head and chopped off the head of another soldier.

The soldier with the sword trapped in his arm stared in terror, watching his comrades being killed while his own sword remained stuck, his internal defenses shattered.

The enemy hadn't been afraid earlier; they just hadn't decided to kill him yet.

As the soldier prepared to let go of his sword and flee, it was too late. Drogo tossed aside his arakh, the blade falling to the ground with a heavy sound.

He then grabbed the soldier's wrist, preventing escape, his eyes burning with intense rage as he locked onto the soldier at close range.

The terrifying, bloodshot eyes made the enemy's heart shatter, and his legs trembled uncontrollably. His mind went blank, and though he tried to beg for mercy, no sound emerged.

He didn't know how to plead for mercy in the Dothraki language.

But Drogo didn't give him the chance, suppressing his fear of the ominous premonition and reinforcing his resolve to avenge Qotho.

With the soldier's horrified gaze fixed on him, Drogo crushed his wrist and used the soldier's own sword to slit his throat.

Swish—

Blood sprayed onto Drogo's powerful chest, and he released his grip, letting the lifeless body fall to the ground.

In an instant, Drogo killed five of the six Andal soldiers.

"Ah…"

"Ah…"

The last soldier, clutching his shield, witnessed the terrifying scene and felt his heartbeat stop.

His trembling hand held the shield as he turned to flee.

However, Drogo kicked him to the ground, picked up his arakh, and decapitated the enemy with a single blow.

This fluid, efficient killing of the six Andal soldiers greatly boosted the morale of the Dothraki.

"Hahaha—"

A deafening cheer erupted from the Dothraki.

The Andal soldiers noticed this too, their gazes toward Khal Drogo now filled with fear. They swallowed nervously, even involuntarily retreating a few steps when he looked their way.

"Use arrows!"

"Quickly shoot him with arrows!"

They shouted, hoping the archers would kill the terrifying Dothraki warrior, determined not to let him lead the Dothraki charge.

This was the role of a Khal, the bravest warrior among the Khalasar. Though individual prowess might not have a significant impact in war, it inspired others.

The Dothraki admired strength, willingly submitting to a powerful Khal and allowing themselves to be driven into battle, plundering and even dying for him.

After accomplishing this, Drogo was quickly surrounded and protected by the Dothraki, staring at the distant Andal battle line with cold, unsmiling eyes.

Of course, he wouldn't charge into battle himself, as even nine lives wouldn't be enough.

But at that moment, Drogo, who had withdrawn from the battle line, sniffed the air. He suddenly smelled an unfamiliar scent.

Drogo was extremely familiar with the smells of a battlefield, but this scent was different from the stench of blood. It was somewhat pungent.

"What is this?"

Drogo lowered his head to look at the ground beneath his feet.