"What? Who? Say it clearly!"
In that instant, Yurikis felt his limbs go numb. Blood surged toward his head in heavy waves.
"It's the Pentoshi! They're attacking us!"
The moment he heard those words, he nearly collapsed, saved only because someone beside him caught him in time.
"Surrender," someone said quietly. "If you surrender, there's still a way to live."
Only then did Yurikis truly understand why Viserys had refused to take their gold.
It was because he had never intended to let mercenaries like them go in the first place.
Mercenaries were rootless drifters by nature.
Even if they were stabbed in the back, there was nowhere to complain, nowhere to seek revenge.
Yurikis could not help but feel regret.
Viserys had dared to strike openly at both Braavos and Pentos.
Let alone mere mercenaries like them.
At his instruction, the Maiden's Men chose to surrender, but the Broken Banner and the Broken Wind did not share that clarity.
In their eyes, Pentos's military was weak and brittle. If they fought hard enough, there might still be a chance.
The starving mercenaries forced themselves to lift blades and spears, clashing head-on with the advancing Pentoshi.
Within these two mercenary companies were a significant number of Dothraki.
Mercenary companies actually liked employing Dothraki.
They were superb riders, ferocious and cruel by temperament, and rarely fled without a fight once battle was joined.
Both the Broken Banner and the Broken Wind each had a detachment dominated by Dothraki warriors.
The resistance of these Dothraki was extremely fierce. It even stunned Gorys, who had come alongside Illyrio.
"The Great Stallion reigns supreme! Ho—!"
The horsemen twisted and darted across their saddles, constantly roaring and shouting in the Dothraki tongue.
Their thunderous battle cries seemed to carry real power against the enemy.
Curved blades flashed like acrobatic props, harvesting lives with terrifying efficiency.
The Pentoshi soldiers who first engaged them even showed signs of collapse.
Had it not been for their overwhelming numbers and superior equipment, their morale might have shattered completely.
On the other hand, the morale of the Broken Banner and Broken Wind was actually lifted by the presence of these Dothraki.
Gorys nodded to two young men beside him.
One was from the Crackclaw Peninsula.
The other was the grandson of Elder Tina.
Each led two hundred elite soldiers to support the Pentoshi, advancing toward the Dothraki.
Though the Dothraki cavalry were exceptional riders, the battlefield space was steadily being compressed.
Moreover, they had not eaten a proper meal in days.
Hunger quickly drained their strength.
With bows and crossbows already confiscated, the battle tilted decisively in one direction.
Only a small number of horsemen chose to surrender. Nearly three hundred Dothraki were killed on the spot.
"I want to see Viserys! Viserys! You bastard! He promised to spare us!"
"Targaryens! You deserved to lose the Iron Throne! The gods will curse you!"
The captains of the Broken Wind and Broken Banner could not accept reality, screaming curses toward the Little Rhoyne.
Gorys showed no mercy toward men who dared insult his king. He struck them across the face with the flat of his sword.
Broken teeth mixed with blood splattered onto the cold, dry earth.
As for other mercenaries who attempted resistance, they were executed on the spot.
The parched ground greedily drank their blood.
The mercenary leaders were taken under control. The remaining mercenaries were spared, to be kept as forced labor.
Tormo had arranged the main assault toward the west, while these mercenaries had been looting other areas around Gohor.
Fortunately, Oswell had moved the surrounding civilians inside the walls in advance. Otherwise, countless innocent lives would have been ruined by them.
They would now sweat out the last of their strength rebuilding Gohor.
As for those whose crimes were especially heinous, Viserys planned to hand them over to Maester Faelor.
Faelor's fondness for live dissections would be publicized far and wide. It would serve as both punishment and deterrence.
And live dissection, after all, was highly beneficial to the advancement of medicine.
Viserys did not mind keeping such a man.
At this moment, Viserys sat aboard his flagship, calculating the gains brought by his hidden advantage.
The siege and defense of Gohor alone had earned him seven to eight thousand essences.
These included refunds from his own fallen soldiers, as well as large amounts taken from the allied forces.
By having the mercenaries attack the Braavosi army, Viserys gained six to seven hundred essences, most of them from elite cavalry.
When the Pentoshi army attacked the mercenaries, he gained even more victory essences.
Altogether, these essences were enough for Viserys to immediately organize a new elite force of around five thousand men.
More than anything else, what intrigued him most was the newly acquired Roaring Warrior Essence.
There were two hundred and eighty-eight of them.
"Roaring warriors? Why not elite cavalry or something similar?" Looking at the black-and-red essences, Viserys felt puzzled.
Why did the Dothraki essences appear so different?
In his view, Dothraki were still human. They should have been no different from others.
"Forget it. No point overthinking it. I'll just absorb one and see." Viserys absorbed the darkest-colored essence.
A Dothraki man's life of more than twenty years flooded into his mind.
His name was Dango.
This Dothraki mercenary came from a family with many brothers. His mother, Aran, had borne six children by different men.
In the end, only he survived.
Like other boys, he chased, fought, and played.
He received his first curved blade, rode his first horse, slept with his first woman.
His first duel. His first kill. His first flight.
This grassland-shaped life fascinated Viserys.
Yet there was something strange about it.
This man had not undergone much formal riding training, and the number of battles he had experienced was not especially high.
Certainly not more than other non-Dothraki mercenaries.
"Could it be racial talent?"
Viserys absorbed several more Roaring Warrior essences and found them largely the same.
Racial talent?
It was hard to believe.
After all, Dothraki bloodlines were hardly pure.
They raided everywhere, and anyone raised on the great grass sea was considered Dothraki.
Viserys set the matter aside for now.
Once the current affairs were settled, he planned to send people deep into the grass sea.
Not just for the horsemen.
But for that man.
According to the timeline, Drogo should still be an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old hothead. Still some distance away from his fully realized self.
This time, Viserys would make sure the molten gold crown was placed upon his head.
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