Chapter 89: Khal Baelbor

"Perhaps so."

Viserys held a dragon egg in his hand, tilting his head slightly to glance at the Magister of Pentos nearby, who had just spoken, and replied calmly.

He then returned his gaze to the three dragon eggs in his hand.

The colors of these three dragon eggs were stunning. The one he held now was a deep green, with an array of bronze spots revealed as Viserys turned it in different angles.

Inside the chest, two other eggs lay: one was a pale cream with golden streaks, while the last one was black. The black egg appeared to be slightly larger than the others, its deep surface resembling a midnight sea, yet it pulsed with the energy of dark red waves and swirls.

Viserys set down the green egg and picked up the largest black one, feeling its hefty weight on his wrist.

"Truly beautiful."

The reflection of the three dragon eggs shimmered in the young man's violet eyes, and his previously quickened heartbeat began to settle.

Viserys put the black egg back in the chest and looked up at Illyrio, asking, "My lord Magister, are there other important guests for this feast?"

Viserys noticed that the feast had not begun since his arrival. The magisters of Pentos were either silent or whispering among themselves, but none showed any impatience.

"Yes, Your Grace," Illyrio replied, turning his head to face Viserys from his seat. "Do you know of the Dothraki?"

Viserys nodded slightly, of course aware of the fierce nomadic tribe.

"Also invited to this feast is a Dothraki Khal."

"A Dothraki Horse Lord?"

"Who?"

Viserys, sitting in his chair, furrowed his brow upon hearing Illyrio's words, suddenly feeling a sense of foreboding.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

"Khal Baelbor, leader of a powerful Khalasar," Illyrio explained.

"Ah, Khal Baelbor."

Viserys recalled hearing the name from the Andals, and nodded, his furrowed brow relaxing somewhat.

Just then, a tumultuous noise erupted from outside the prince's palace. Several Dothraki men, bare-chested and wearing animal-hide vests adorned with painted patterns, bronze belts around their waists, stormed in.

At the forefront was a tall and muscular man, his bulging muscles apparent, his long black hair braided and hanging down his back, his beard rough and tangled, interspersed with strands of silver, and his skin somewhat slackened.

Following him were several Dothraki, each with an arakh curved blade at their waist.

"This is Khal Baelbor."

...

Seeing this scene, Illyrio whispered an explanation into Viserys's ear.

"Ah."

Viserys gave a slight nod, but his gaze remained fixed on a young Dothraki standing behind the elderly Khal.

The young Dothraki was taller and stronger than Khal Balbo, with bronze skin, bulging muscles, and explosive strength.

His face bore some resemblance to the older Khal in front of him, with deep black eyes and hair, a long beard, and his hair was braided into a long plait that reached down to his thighs, even longer than Khal Balbo's.

"Is he..."

Viserys's eyes narrowed slightly.

At this moment, the Dothraki who had rudely barged in were chattering in their incomprehensible language. As the translator whispered into the ear of the Pentoshi prince seated on the ivory and gold throne, his wooden expression showed panic for the first time.

The Pentoshi Magisters were in an uproar, seemingly unable to believe the words of their translators.

"Hmm?"

Viserys, who did not understand the Dothraki language, was unsure of what had happened. However, before he could ask, the elderly Khal and his bloodriders stormed up with an aggressive air.

The noble Prince of Pentos, bearing the prestigious surname of Rodney, seemed to be scared witless, looking helpless.

Standing beside him were the three heralds symbolizing trade, war, and law, who were also panicking and looking to the surrounding Pentoshi Magisters for help.

But no one responded to their pleading gazes.

The elderly Khal, accompanied by his bloodriders, ascended the steps and stood before the Pentoshi prince.

He reached out and pulled the terrified prince from the ivory and gold throne.

The herald holding a steel longsword, symbolizing war, tried to stop the elderly Khal in desperation.

Smack—

But his wrist was grabbed by the young, strong Dothraki standing behind the Khal.

The grip was like a steel clamp, and the powerful force nearly crushed the herald's wrist bones.

"Hmm?"

The young Dothraki's dark, deep eyes narrowed, and he plunged the steel longsword into the herald's chest.

Blood sprayed out, and the herald screamed in agony. The Dothraki released his grip, and the herald's body tumbled down the steps.

The bloodstained golden steps were a vivid contrast to the lifeless body lying at their base. The pool of blood grew larger, and there was no more movement.

The Prince of Pentos, removed from the throne and with his luxurious clothes torn, finally showed fear on his usually wooden expression. It seemed he realized the fate that awaited him.

One person was cowering in a corner of the high-ceilinged hall, a mysterious yellow liquid dripping from his trousers.

The other two heralds, pale from witnessing the brutal death of their comrade representing war, tried to lead the prince away, who was hiding in the corner.

However, the Rodney prince refused to leave the corner, remaining immovable even with both of them pulling at him.

The elderly Khal who had driven the Prince of Pentos away showed no courtesy, sitting directly on the throne. He then spoke a few more words to the petrified translator.

The translator, understanding the Dothraki language, hastily instructed a servant to bring another chair and place it next to the ivory and gold throne, allowing the young Dothraki who had been following the elderly Khal to sit beside him.