Chapter 242: Alliance

Half a month passed quickly.

The outskirts of Vaes Dothrak, the holy city of the Dothraki, were now teeming with more khalasars.

For the first time, this vast yet rudimentary city was filled with such a large population that it even faced some issues with food supply. Fortunately, merchant caravans from Qohor and even Pentos arrived in time to alleviate the situation in Vaes Dothrak.

Now, many powerful Khals had gathered in the holy city. Some Khals already knew what was to be discussed, while others were still in the dark.

Naturally, it wasn't just Khal Jhaqo who had managed to rally so many Khals together. In fact, Jhaqo's khalasar wasn't even particularly notable among these Khals.

With so many khalasars gathered in Vaes Dothrak, there were naturally other forces involved. They claimed to be nobodies and offered a massive amount of gold to hire the Dothraki to unite.

The Dothraki had precedent for such actions.

Once, in the bloody century following the Doom, the Dothraki had surged into the west with iron and fire, beginning to occupy the grasslands now known as the Dothraki Sea.

However, at that time, the masters of the grasslands were not the Dothraki, but the Kingdom of Sarnor.

Initially, the tall men of Sarnor looked down on the Dothraki as barbarians, hiring them to fight each other in their internal wars.

It was then that the Dothraki were first united by a Khal named Mengo.

What followed was a case of inviting the wolf into the house. Khal Mengo led the united Dothraki in an attack on the Kingdom of Sarnor.

In less than a century, the kingdom on the grasslands was completely destroyed by the Dothraki. All cities were reduced to ruins, and the tall men were nearly extinct.

Therefore, the Dothraki were not unfamiliar with the concept of being paid to do a job.

They could also put aside their grudges and unite for a common cause, depending on whether the benefits offered were worth it.

And what Jhaqo brought was exactly such a reason.

"Jhaqo, what do you want us to do by summoning us here?"

"Do you feel an itch in your neck?"

The speaker was a Khal sitting on the throne on the other side of the bonfire. As a newly promoted Khal, he was unaware of the situation. His physique was equally robust, his upper body bare, and his bloodrider stood behind him.

His tone was not very friendly, as he had clashed with Jhaqo several times in the past, even coming to blows.

This Khal's name was Pono, who was also one of the khases that had fled after Khal Drogo's defeat.

However, his path differed from Jhaqo's. Pono led his khas into another khalasar and, after a few years, had just become the new Khal after the old one died.

"Heh."

Jhaqo, who was provoked by Khal Pono on the other side, just snorted in disdain, showing no regard for his old tribal friend.

"Pono, you're still as brainless as ever."

Pono's personal strength was indeed more formidable than Jhaqo's.

He had once beaten him in a tribal fight, but Jhaqo didn't hold a grudge. Now, his khalasar was even larger than Pono's.

"Enough."

At this point, an

elderly Khal with somewhat graying hair sat steadily on his throne and spoke in a deep voice.

"Let's all stop."

This old Khal's name was Moro. If the Dothraki were to respect seniority, Khal Moro's experience would indeed be more profound than these younger generations.

Moro's khalasar, including his riders, was a unique force among all the tribes in the Dothraki Sea.

Moro's khalasar consisted not only of himself but also of his riders, all of whom were old men. It was like an 'Old Soldiers' Alliance' among the Dothraki.

Even continuously, old Dothraki warriors who felt their abilities declining and were ostracized from their own tribes joined Moro's khalasar, forming a mutually dependent and supportive alliance.

However, Moro, leading a group of old and frail veterans, was a force on the Dothraki Sea that, while not strong, was not easy to provoke.

These old guys might be aged, but their combat experience was extremely rich. They were all veterans who had survived countless battles.

As soon as Moro spoke, both Khal Pono and Khal Jhaqo snorted.

However, they weren't afraid of Moro. They just took advantage of Moro's words to find a way out, as it was a rule all Dothraki devoutly followed that they couldn't fight in the holy city.

Then Moro, seeing that Jhaqo and Pono had put aside their dispute, looked at Jhaqo. His white beard swayed as he spoke in a low voice.

"Now that some people still don't know what's going on, let's have Khal Jhaqo explain."

As Moro's words fell, all the other Khals in the simple wooden palace of the holy city looked over.

The fire in the center of the hall was bright.

The remaining Khals who hadn't participated in the internal dispute were Khal Moro, Khal Jomo, Khal Ogo, and Khal Zheko.

Seeing the other Khals' gazes, Jhaqo didn't hesitate.

Clap, clap...

Jhaqo clapped his hands, and his bloodrider understood, turned around and left, quickly bringing up a man in ragged clothes who looked utterly worn out.

He was Banny Santos, the son of the old Magister of Pentos.

Then Jhaqo said a few words, and the Dothraki translator told Banny Santos.

Then this man, now in his thirties and once the son of the Magister, gathered his emotions and began to sob and cry about the cruel situation he had encountered and the bloody night.

However, he didn't mention that Pentos had first violated guest right, but portrayed Viserys and the Beggar Prince as unforgivable demons.

However, when the Dothraki translator translated the Magister's son's words for the Khals present, they listened with great interest.

They even laughed heartily, their laughter full of mockery for the weakness of Pentos.

The people of Pentos were truly weaker than 'sheep,' allowing two hundred men and a beast to kill all the Magisters and take over the city-state.

There would never be such cowards among the Dothraki warriors.

If that little king brought his two hundred tin cans to the Dothraki Sea, the brave Dothraki would definitely make them come and never return.

Hearing the mocking laughter around him, Banny Santos felt like a knife was stabbing his heart, but he clenched his fists a few times without daring to speak.

In the end, he stood aside with his head

down and hands hanging after he finished speaking, looking like a destitute beggar.

"Now, you've all heard."

"Our 'friends' who have given us gifts and gold and silver are in trouble."

Khal Moro stood up, the fire burning, his robust figure casting a shadow.

"Now... it's time."

"Kill all those men in iron clothes! Tear down their stone houses!"

"Take their wealth and women!"

"Roar!"

All the Dothraki in the wooden hall of Vaes Dothrak were stirred up.

In the shadows, a man in a gray-brown robe stood quietly in place.