Game of Thrones: Rise of Kings

On the west bank of the Undercurrent River, in the Norvos Hills and the Black Forest, the rising sun was pale and dim, and the air was filled with hot and humid air, mixed with the smell of earth and vegetation.

To the southeast of the Black Forest is a small hill stretching for several miles, providing shelter while blocking the cool breeze.

The six thousand roaring Dothraki warriors led by Marco had been hiding here for three whole days. The sun had set. The cavalry were showing their faces, but the horses had not yet shed their fat. The war horses are the lifeline of the Dothraki in battle. They would rather starve themselves than let the war horses go unfed. Of course, if it persisted, they would eventually slaughter the horses to satisfy their hunger.

At this time, a pair of black shadows suddenly appeared on the hill, rushing toward the hiding place quickly.

With the rapid sound of horse hooves, Marco looked from a distance and saw that the man rushing in front was the old man Oliver.

After reining in the horse, Oliver's face turned pale, and he climbed down weakly. He staggered, struggling to walk. Two Dothraki cavalry behind him quickly dismounted and helped him to Marco.

Oliver struggled, took a bronze dagger from his belt, raised his hand, and said weakly:

"Khal, fortunately, your mission is accomplished. On the way back, we spotted Jumo Khal's tribe. They are heading toward the Long Bridge of the Undercurrent River and are expected to arrive by noon."

The moment Marco saw the dagger, he laughed loudly, jumped on the red horse, and galloped to the front of the army. Facing the eager eyes of the roaring Dothraki warriors, he shouted loudly:

"Dothraki warriors, the war you have been waiting for is coming. The horse gods are protecting us. The sky, the Virgin Mountain, and the Womb Lake of the world are also watching us. The gods are already on our side. They will cast defeat upon the enemy's head. Although their numbers are several times ours, they have confined themselves in a narrow and unfavorable terrain, leaving us the most open and flat position. This land is just right for us to launch a charge. The enemy enjoys themselves in comfortable tents all day, but we have grown stronger through fighting forest beasts and overcoming countless hardships. You are all the bravest warriors on the Dothraki Sea, and I, the blessed of the gods, am the incomparable Khal Marco."

"Khal Marco."

"Khal Marco."

…

Amidst the endless shouting, looking at the increasingly blazing sun above the forest, Marco took a long breath. He knew the battle that would determine the future was about to begin.

The sun was rising, the paleness dissipated, there was no breeze in the air, and time seemed frozen.

"The scouts from Jumo Khal's tribe have passed by. This is the third batch. They are preparing to cross the river."

The tone was filled with relief and excitement, and the old man Oliver was relieved.

Marco listened silently and waited for him to finish before asking:

"So, when will Kosoro arrive at the Undercurrent River?"

Oliver held his gray hair, thought for a moment, and said:

"It will probably take another hour."

"I understand." Marco nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed.

In war, the right timing, location, and people are crucial. Any lack of one requires a huge price to compensate.

After Jumo Khal's tribe arrived in Qohor City, Marco sent Oliver to lead a team of patrol scouts back to the Qohor Forest to find Kosoro, who was leading the tribe toward Qohor City. The old man brought back the dagger as a token.

After receiving the token, Kosoro would lead 10,000 Dothraki Roaring Warriors to quickly move westward and, together with Marco, attack Jumo Khal's tribe as they crossed the river.

So, the question now is whether Kosoro can reach the battlefield at the right time.

However, Marco did not panic. The attack from both sides was just to obtain greater results. Since he dared to bring 6,000 cavalry out, he must be sure of victory.

After thinking it through, Marco turned to the old man Oliver:

"Secretary, have you ever seen Jumo Khal and his bandits?"

Although beheading a general in the midst of thousands is challenging, targeting the leader is a timeless strategy applicable to any nation. Otherwise, the enemy will only be killed in fear to achieve strategic goals.

The Dothraki were too conspicuous in the city-state of Qohor, and Marco and his scouts couldn't get close to Jumo Khal's tribe, so he still didn't know their appearance.

However, although the Dothraki Sea is vast, Khals often travel to the holy city of Vaes Dothrak.

Vaes Dothrak, also known as the "City of the Horse King," is the only city of the Dothraki people. It is located under the Virgin Mountain on the other side of the Dothraki Sea, beside a lake known as the "Womb of the World." There are no city walls in Vaes Dothrak, which is large enough to accommodate all the Dothraki tribes simultaneously. All Dothraki in the holy city are blood brothers. It is strictly forbidden to carry knives, and all bloody fights are prohibited.

So, Oliver, being old, might have seen Jumo Khal in the holy city.

However, the old man looked embarrassed and hesitantly said:

"I just remember that Jumo Khal had four wives."

The dark forest, which was filled with relaxation, suddenly became quiet again.

At this moment, the patrol scout came back and reported:

"Khal, the enemy's fourth batch of scouts has passed, and more than half of the people crossing the river are about to cross."

Silence.

Marco led six thousand Dothraki roaring warriors and quietly led their horses forward. At this moment, they could finally walk out of the Black Forest.

War horses were muzzled, and their hooves were wrapped with cloth to avoid being discovered by the enemy before the attack. Before the cavalry actually launched an attack, the cloth would be removed because the wrapping would cause the warhorse to lose touch with the ground, losing speed, stepping on air, and stumbling in battle.

At this time, outside the Black Forest, the orange-yellow sun was like a chopped-off head, dazzling. Everything gilded reflected brilliance.

Trampling the hills, climbing on the horse, the hot wind blew on the exposed chest.

Marco tried to suppress the excitement and tension in his heart and decisively issued an order:

"Dothraki cavalry, attack!"

"Wow, oh."

Six thousand Dothraki roaring warriors, whistling to drive away prey, lay on their saddles and jumped on their horses, the black mass of water overflowed like the turbulent Undercurrent River, and the sound of horses' hooves like thunder resounded across the two banks of the river.

The war horses trotted, and the sound of their hooves gradually synchronized, louder than the clouds, and after speeding up, it gradually became like a landslide.

Dust and smoke rolled, and Marco felt the wind whistling in his ears, but the blood rush brought a hint of coolness, so he didn't feel nervous.

These 6,000 cavalrymen were not ordinary Dothraki cavalry with scattered equipment. Most were originally his Khas tribe, and the rest were elites selected from the tribe. Each carried and was proficient in using bows, arrows, spears, and scimitars.

The attack happened suddenly. When the sound of horse hooves swept in like a landslide, the nearly 10,000 troops on the west bank who had crossed the river had not yet figured out the situation. They couldn't organize their formations and were dizzy, like taking a walk.

Until the 6,000 cavalry reached a distance of 500 steps.

The warriors of the Jumo Khal tribe roared sporadically and rode to meet them, but they were turned into hedgehogs just after rushing out a hundred steps.

At this time, the tribes on both sides finally reacted, but their actions were too strong. Because the head and tail couldn't connect, they were in chaos.

Two hundred steps, thousands of arrows rained down on the west coast tribe. Bows and arrows were devastating to the densely packed but unprotected Dothraki.

At a distance of one hundred steps, two rounds of horse archery left the entire west coast Jumo Khal tribe thrown to the ground, scattered, with many stunned in place, confusion and fear in their eyes.

With a casualty rate of nearly 30%, even the elite would collapse. The barbaric nature of the Dothraki was fully demonstrated. They actually wanted to organize a charge.

In the last hundred steps, six thousand roaring warriors clamped their horses' bellies and charged with spears.

Swish——

The spear in Marco's hand pierced the chest of a cavalryman before him, and he let go immediately. The inertial impact knocked the cavalry off the horse.

In a flash, he drew his arakh scimitar and then passed by a hideous enemy, leaving only the noise of the other before his death.

In the corner of his eye, a curved scimitar struck his face. Marco was furious. He stretched out his arm to block the blade, clasping his five fingers tightly on the other's horrified face. Blood seeped out of his fingers, and he fell to the ground with his horse.

After breaking through the enemy formation, the roaring warriors wanted to turn their horses and charge forward, but they found that the enemy army on the west bank had already collapsed and fled in all directions. Even the war horses cried and jumped into the river with their masters, drowning in the whirlpool.

The enemies on the east bank were even more afraid to move forward. In a panic, they clashed with the panicked ordinary tribes in the rear and lost their positions.

"Boom boom..."

Accompanied by the sound of the ground shaking, a black line rushed out from the eastern horizon. The floating smoke and dust seemed to be lifted by a tornado, covering the clouds and the sun. The Dothraki cavalry in the wild rolled in like surging black waves, as if they could sweep away all the scattered sand on the east bank in one fell swoop.

Blood blurred the ground and turned into mud. The warhorse dragged the corpse of its master, wailing. The surging river water swept the red into the whirlpool and rushed away.

The warriors of the Jumo Khal tribe cut off their braids, dismounted, and prostrated themselves on the ground.