The long stretch of beach outside Meereen was covered in fine, white sand—soft and warm. The azure waves lapped against the shore without leaving any foam. In another world, this would be a tourist hotspot fought over by countless people.
But in this world, the only ones lying on the beach to sunbathe were the poor or slaves, trying to kill the fleas and lice on their bodies. Only a handful of nobles, like Wright, had the luxury of enjoying such a pastime.
Wright removed his cumbersome white robe and hood, leaving only a pair of shorts and sandals. The sea breeze ruffled his short hair, and the sun felt warm on his tall, sturdy frame. The only thing ruining the picturesque scene was the thousands of charging cavalry behind him.
Daenerys had already ridden nearly a hundred meters toward Meereen before stopping to watch Wright's battle.
Missandei shielded her eyes from the sun, looking at Wright, who was now only in his shorts: "Princess, look! He's running onto the beach! Even if he's a mage, he can't possibly handle thousands of Dothraki riders."
"Not necessarily. Wright isn't easy to deal with," Daenerys said, though inwardly she desperately hoped Wright would be torn to pieces. At the same time, she remembered the apocalyptic scene in Braavos from her childhood and began praying for the Dothraki, hoping the gods would grant them victory over Wright.
As the cavalry drew closer, Wright began casting spells. A suit of frost armor gradually covered his body, and flames engulfed him. Gripping Bloodskaal's Blade with both hands, he swung it diagonally toward Khal Drogo, who was leading the charge.
A blood-red crescent shot forward, slicing through the neck of Drogo's white stallion. Drogo, having anticipated Wright's move, had already shifted to the side of his horse, narrowly avoiding the attack. Two riders behind him weren't so lucky and were cut down by the crescent.
The headless white horse crashed to the ground, but Drogo leaped onto another rider's horse before it fell.
One after another, red crescents flew toward Drogo, who kept dodging by jumping from horse to horse. Over a dozen horses and riders fell, only to be trampled into pulp by the charging horde.
He actually dodged! Impressive!
Wright summoned two Dremora Lords with a surge of magic. The purple portals opened, and the towering figures stepped out, looking at Wright.
"Dragonborn! Are we killing again?"
Wright recognized the two Dremora by their horns—they were old acquaintances he had summoned before.
Wright pointed behind them: "Look there. Leave the one at the front to me. The rest are yours to slaughter!"
"Blood! Aaaahhh!" The summoned Dremora, who couldn't truly die, charged toward the flanks of the Dothraki cavalry.
Wright didn't expect the two Dremora to kill all the riders, but they would at least disrupt the charge. Switching to a one-handed grip on his sword, Wright waited for Drogo, who had been intentionally allowed to approach.
Drogo, realizing Wright was waiting for him, ignored the two black-armored figures and led the remaining riders straight toward Wright.
"Oooohhh! Haa!"
Drogo leaped high from his horse, gripping his arakh with both hands as he brought it down toward Wright in a powerful slash.
Wright didn't dodge. He raised his sword to block.
Clang!
The collision of the two weapons produced a deafening sound.
Drogo landed on his feet and quickly spun away, raising his arakh with one hand to face Wright.
Wright glanced at Drogo's weapon—a Valyrian steel arakh with a dragonbone hilt! No wonder Drogo dared to face him head-on despite Wright's magical weapon.
"Roar!"
Drogo, taller and more muscular than Wright, charged again. Wright extinguished his flame cloak and engaged Drogo with only his greatsword. The two Dremora Lords held off the front lines of the cavalry, causing the rest to halt or change direction.
"Haa!"
Clang~~
"Roar!"
For the moment, Wright and Drogo had a chance to duel one-on-one. On the beach, they displayed their martial prowess, each strike aimed at the other's vital points, while the other parried and countered. Their movements were swift and precise, their roars and the clashing of weapons echoing loudly.
Drogo's strength and reflexes were top-tier, but Wright felt no sense of camaraderie or admiration. He simply wanted to experience the skills of the greatest Dothraki warrior.
Suddenly, Wright felt the two summoned Dremora return to Oblivion. He stepped back, creating distance, and glanced toward the cavalry. Over a hundred bodies of men and horses lay scattered, while the remaining Dothraki riders formed two large circles, galloping endlessly. The ground in the center was littered with arrows. Their arakhs had been replaced with bows, including a few made of ivory dragonbone.
Having seen enough of Drogo's skills, Wright spoke to him in Dothraki: "You are the most skilled human warrior I've encountered so far. I'll grant you the honor of a whole corpse!"
Hearing Wright speak Dothraki, Drogo was momentarily stunned.
The battle between the two men moved from the sandy beach to the knee-deep waters of the sea. Wright no longer held back. He planted his greatsword into the ground and delivered a swift, powerful kick to Drogo's abdomen.
**Thud!**
"Ugh~!" The force of the kick was so great that Drogo's feet left the knee-deep water.
Wright grabbed Drogo's hand holding the arakh, twisted it sharply, and disarmed him. With a swift motion, he sliced off Drogo's long braid at the shoulder.
"No!"
Thud!
Another brutal kick, this time straight to Drogo's face.
Dazed, Drogo knelt in the water. Wright twisted his arm behind his back, swept his legs out from under him, and forced him face-down into the sea. With one hand pressing on Drogo's neck, Wright held his head underwater.
Drogo clenched his mouth shut, struggling desperately. Wright's feet began to freeze the sand beneath him, anchoring himself firmly.
The soft sand and the rolling waves made it impossible for Drogo to gain any leverage. He tried to pry Wright's hand off his back, but it was like trying to bend steel—utterly immovable.
"No! Wright is drowning Khal Drogo! Someone save him!" Daenerys' heart raced inexplicably, and she suddenly screamed.
The scene was too chaotic, and she was too far away. No matter how loud she shouted, the Dothraki couldn't hear her. However, the Dothraki had been watching their khal closely. Seeing Drogo struggling face-down in the water, the front lines of hundreds of riders began charging toward Wright!
"Mu~~~Qah~~~Diiv~~~!"
Daenerys heard the familiar High Valyrian words and saw the dragon-shaped energy armor enveloping Wright. She shuddered, a terrible premonition gripping her as she tightly clutched her reins.
"Fus~~Ro~~Dah~~~~!"
With both hands occupied holding Drogo, Wright still had his voice.
A deafening roar drowned out all other sounds. A visible shockwave plowed through the sand, carving a trench as it surged into the mass of Dothraki riders. Horses and men were instantly obliterated.
The shattered remains continued to surge backward, disappearing only after over a hundred meters. The trench filled with seawater, rushing toward the other end and creating a blood-red wave, with countless fragments floating on the surface.
"Oooohhhh~~" Perhaps because they couldn't see their fallen comrades, the Dothraki's ferocity only intensified. They continued their charge toward Wright.
Drogo's struggles weakened beneath Wright. Wright turned in another direction: "Fus~~Ro~~Dah~~~~!"
The shockwave carved another trench halfway.
"Fus~~Ro~~Dah~~~~!"
Another shockwave erupted. Three shouts, three directions. The Dothraki at the front were reduced to bloody pulp, floating in the water-filled trenches.
Drogo had gone limp. Wright released him, letting him float face-down in the water. He picked up Drogo's arakh and planted it in the sand, then gripped his greatsword with both hands and charged toward the remaining Dothraki.
The riders at the rear had bypassed the three trenches and were turning when they saw Wright, glowing with energy, charging toward them. They immediately raised their bows and began shooting.
At this distance, their arrows could hit directly. They fired at Wright, but lightning crackled around his body, and he ignored the arrows striking him.
"Haa!"
Several blood-red energy slashes flew out.
The Dothraki bloodriders had to avenge their khal first, then follow him in death. Whether they had died before was unclear, but now it was a fight to the death.
Wright plunged into the midst of the Dothraki. Without bows, it was a clash of arakhs against greatswords, howls against screams.
Hum~~~
Two storm atronachs(elementals), their bodies composed of swirling stones and lightning, appeared amidst the mass of men and horses. Bolts of lightning arced through the air, the crackling sound drowning out the cries of the riders.
Oooohhhh~~
The short, unfamiliar horn blasts were different from what Wright usually heard.
Khal Drogo was dead. The other two khals, still alive, led their remaining forces in retreat. Some of Drogo's followers, confused, followed suit.
Drogo's bloodriders would avenge him. The other two khals now raced to gather the remnants of Drogo's khalasar. Thousands of riders on the northern grasslands were now without a leader, and whoever could claim them would gain their allegiance.
Watching the distant red light and lightning still wreaking havoc, Daenerys felt an inexplicable sadness over Drogo's death. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably.
"Haa~~"
After a bolt of lightning and a flash of red light, the last Dothraki surrounding Wright—a man already charred by electricity—was split in half, both man and horse.
Covered in blood, Wright dismissed his magic, breathing heavily as he slowly walked back to the beach. He picked up the Valyrian arakh he had planted in the sand and noticed the inscription on the dragonbone hilt in High Valyrian: "To Shadow Dothraki."
Shadow Dothraki? Never heard of him. Wright washed off the blood in the sea, put on the clothes he had discarded earlier, and remounted Avark, slowly riding toward Daenerys and her handmaidens.
"You treacherous usurper! Heartless butcher! You're a monster!" Daenerys screamed at Wright.
"Princess, stop!" her handmaidens pleaded beside her.
Tears streaming down her face, Daenerys continued to roar: "You stole our family's magic, you stole our dragons, and you will be cursed by all the gods!"
Having just finished a battle, Wright's temper flared. He turned to her handmaidens and asked, "What's wrong with her?"
Missandei, seeing Wright's expression, nervously replied, "We don't know why she's acting like this."
"Wright! You're a monster! Your descendants... ugh—"
Daenerys was still spewing venom when she suddenly stopped, looking down at herself. The dark, red-glowing greatsword had pierced her abdomen, the tip protruding from her lower back.
"Do you really think I wouldn't kill you?"
Wright said coldly:
"Princess!" The handmaidens dismounted and helped Daenerys down from her horse, laying her gently on the ground.
Missandei stepped in front of Wright, raising her hands to block him, her voice trembling with tears: "Please, Lord Wright, don't hurt Daenerys anymore! I beg you!"
Wright's expression remained impassive as he looked down at Daenerys lying on the ground.
"Missandei, come here." Daenerys' abdomen was stained with blood, and her handmaidens were tearing strips from their dresses to staunch the bleeding.
"What are your orders?"
Daenerys motioned for Missandei to come closer and whispered her final words into her ear.
Missandei began to cry: "I understand, Your Grace. If Lord Wright spares me, I will fulfill your wish."
Daenerys' lips were pale as she lay in her handmaiden's arms, weakly looking at Wright:
"Come here. I have something to say to you."
Wright walked over and crouched beside her.
"Closer. I'm losing strength." Daenerys' voice grew weaker.
As Wright leaned his ear closer to her mouth, Daenerys suddenly tried to bite him. Wright raised a finger to block her.
"That's it? Trying to bite me before you die?"
"Hahaha." Daenerys, now completely drained, could only watch.
"Did you know that some mages can control air currents? That's why many mages have sharp hearing. I heard everything you said to Missandei just now."
Wright's hand glowed with a yellow light as he cast a healing spell on Daenerys.
The lost blood couldn't be replenished, but the wound and damaged internal organs healed rapidly, leaving only the blood-soaked, torn clothes.
"You liar!" Daenerys, regaining her strength, immediately cursed at Wright.
"Let's go. I know where your dragons are now. I'll use you as bait to lure them here." Wright mounted his skeletal horse and rode toward Meereen with a smile.
"You liar!" Missandei also muttered under her breath, glaring at Wright.
One of the handmaidens helped Daenerys onto her horse, and the two rode together. The group followed Wright toward Meereen.
---
Back at the Great Pyramid of House Pahl, Oznak was shocked to see Wright bringing Daenerys into his home.
Wright gathered the representatives from Volantis and the key members of House Pahl. Daenerys, now a hostage, sat behind Wright. The three little girls were visibly unhappy, glaring at Daenerys with resentment.
Wright downed two large cups of wine: "There's been a change of plans. Originally, I intended to infiltrate her side secretly and act when the time was right. But she insisted on seeing my face, exposing my identity, so I had no choice but to bring her here."
Oznak: "Lord Wright, was that battle in the outskirts your doing?"
Wright: "Yes, it was a fight between me and the Dothraki. I drowned Khal Drogo."
"What! The mightiest khal is dead!" The people in the room were in disbelief.
Berricio Stangoni, touching the dragon-shaped pendant under his clothes: "It's true. Drogo's bloodriders are also dead. Now, Khal Jommoo's men are collecting the bodies."
Wright pointed at Daenerys: "The situation in Meereen is now out in the open. Her husband wants to be king of Meereen, and I've taken her hostage. Her forces will undoubtedly organize an army to rescue her. War is inevitable. You can inform all the Great Masters—it's time to choose sides!"
Whether war would truly break out was still uncertain. Wright was considering one possibility: what if the Great Masters of Meereen, seeing the overwhelming enemy forces, all chose to surrender? That would be awkward for him.