Chapter 113: Chapter 112: Night
Soon.
After a half-day of fierce fighting, night finally descended.
The bloodthirsty Dothraki, who seemed to be on a stimulant, could not hold on any longer. Their howls gradually weakened, and fatigue crept into their bodies. Their feet felt as if they were stuck in mud, and they could no longer swing their arakhs.
Hoo—
Soon after, the sound of the retreat horn came from the rear of the Khalasar. The Dothraki, stepping in the twilight, left the battlefield strewn with corpses and slowly began to withdraw.
The Andalosian army was also exhausted, unable to pursue the retreating enemy. They could only watch with numb, unresponsive eyes as the Dothraki left the battlefield.
"Medic!"
"Medic!"
"Someone, help!"
Inside the ruined city of Gohra.
Soldiers hurried past in chaotic footsteps, the air thick with the acrid smell of blood. Wounded soldiers cried out in pain, as if they were in the seventh layer of hell.
Viserys was also covered in blood. His longsword had been damaged in the fight, and he gasped for breath before tossing it to the ground.
Clang—
At the last moment of the battle, when the Andalosian army was on the verge of collapse, the young king himself took up his sword and repelled the final Dothraki assault, boosting the morale of his troops.
Ultimately, the Andalosians won the battle of wills. The Dothraki, who had been relentlessly attacking and suffering heavy losses, could not hold on any longer. They were the first to sound the retreat horn, giving the Andalosians a much-needed respite.
Now, the tightly wound string in their minds finally relaxed, and the Andalosian soldiers felt a wave of exhaustion wash over them. Fear and pain from their injuries surged forth all at once.
Soldiers who had already rested replaced those who had just left the battlefield. Many leaned against walls or trees to sleep, and some even found a soft patch of ground to lie down on, not wanting to get up again.
Those with minor injuries were given bandages and wine to treat their wounds. Soldiers with severe injuries, missing limbs, were either being treated by medics or carried away by their comrades to a secluded place to await death's arrival, so as not to affect the morale of the others.
At this moment.
Creak…
Viserys removed his upper body armor. His usually flowing silver-gold hair was now matted and damp from sweat, clinging to his cheeks and back.
He sat alone on a stone in the ruined city, silently organizing his equipment while looking up at the hellish scene around him, lost in thought.
It was then that a voice sounded from behind him.
"This is the true face of war, Viserys."
"It is not comparable to the suppression of some villages and bandits."
Oberyn had also removed his armor and cleaned his body of dirt and grime. For the first time, a clear look of fatigue appeared in his black, serpentine eyes.
Oberyn had also been fighting on the frontlines, even briefly clashing with Drogo himself, dampening the latter's arrogance.
However, in the chaos of the battlefield, both sides were unable to fully utilize their skills, swept along by the tide of the armies.
...
In the end, amid the chaos of battle, Khal Drogo withdrew from the front lines under the protection of his bloodriders, and the clash between the two came to an abrupt halt.
When Viserys personally entered the fray, the war was already drawing to a close. The Dothraki were down to their last desperate charge, and Khal Drogo had long since retreated to the rear under protection. The two never got a chance to face each other directly.
"Ah, you're right," Viserys heard Oberyn's voice and looked up at him slightly.
Then he lowered his head again, removing the greaves from his leg and tossing them to the ground.
"But why do you always appear suddenly behind me?"
Viserys even suspected that Oberyn deliberately circled around him each time just to... give him a little scare?
His words clearly caused the Prince of Dorne's cheek to stiffen slightly, followed by a helpless shrug.
"Believe me, it's just a coincidence."
Oberyn then sat down next to him on a rock, looking sideways at the young king.
"However, seeing that you weren't frightened by the horrors of this war, I'm relieved."
Oberyn's remark was clearly a jest. Viserys had witnessed the brutality of war from a young age and had killed several people by the time he was seven or eight. He wouldn't be scared now.
Nevertheless, Oberyn was also reminding Viserys in a teasing manner not to let the horrors of war cloud his judgment and to maintain basic composure.
Although Viserys was young, he had become the backbone of the entire Targaryen interest group, the most indispensable person.
Neither Rhaenys nor Daenerys could replace Viserys in his crucial role in this group, which is why King Robert had been plotting to eliminate him.
Oberyn stayed in Andalos, hoping one day to avenge his sister's death, and this hope grew more real with Viserys's increasing age and Andalos's growing strength.
However, Viserys simply shook his head at Oberyn's concern. He wasn't scared.
"I'm just thinking about how to win this battle."
Even without their fates intertwined, the future would see the Dothraki's most powerful Khalasar at sea, and the conflict between Viserys and Drogo wouldn't be easily severed.
"We need to find a way to finish this guy off!"
In the end, the young king clenched his fist, making up his mind.
...
In the distance, a dark-skinned, muscular man sat atop a black warhorse, his bare upper body revealing coiling muscles, and his long braids adorned with small bells chiming in the wind.
He had deep black eyes, and as he guided his horse to a higher position to survey the distant battlefield, his eyes betrayed no emotion. He raised his hand and made a sound like a grunt.
The message was simple but clear. The bloodrider Kohoro, who accompanied him, knew Khal Drogo very well. Kohoro had served under his father and had once rescued Drogo when he was a child from the hands of mercenaries.
The slightly balding, broken-toothed man then nodded, turned his horse around, and galloped downhill.
...
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