However, the roaring warriors at the front and their warhorses suddenly let out piercing, desperate cries without warning, vanishing into the ground beneath them.
Lo Quen's lips curled into a cold smile. To guard against ambushes, he had long since ordered his men to dig deep trenches across the eastern plains of the battlefield, concealing them under layers of camouflage.
The cavalry behind had no time to react. Driven by sheer momentum, they crashed one after another into the pits, or were trampled into the mud by the hooves of their comrades.
One trench, two trenches, three trenches—five or six deep rifts swallowed hundreds of the leading elite. The Dothraki's famed charge was brutally disrupted and forced to a halt.
The screams of horses, the cries of dying riders, and the sickening crunch of breaking bones blended into a sound that sent shivers down the spine.
Though their speed faltered and their formation broke apart, the Dothraki's innate savagery erupted in full. Stepping over the bodies of fallen comrades, they roared with renewed fury and charged again toward the iron wall.
"Thud! Thud! Thud!"
Like waves crashing against a cliff, the raging cavalry slammed into the tower shield line of the Dragon Soul Guards. The tremendous impact sent tremors through the frontline defenders, the earth itself sinking beneath their feet.
Yet, with inhuman strength and superior armor, they withstood the first and fiercest impact.
Longspears shot out like venomous serpents through the gaps in the shields, skewering horse bellies and impaling riders with precise, deadly thrusts.
In moments, men and horses toppled, blood splattering everywhere.
But there were simply too many Dothraki. They came on like an endless tide, fearless and unrelenting, throwing their bodies against the steel wall.
At last, a section of the shield line began to buckle under the repeated collisions. Several Dragon Soul Guards staggered backward under the immense pressure.
A gap was torn open in an instant.
The ferocious Dothraki cavalry surged through like floodwaters breaking a dam, roaring as they poured in.
"Kill!"
Lo Quen's voice thundered across the field.
Eight hundred heavily armored Dragon Soul cavalrymen, who had long awaited the order, charged down the southern hillside and smashed into the Dothraki flank, their lances driving deep into the enemy's disordered ranks.
The heavy spears punched cleanly through flesh, while ironclad warhorses crushed their lighter foes, snapping bones and scattering riders.
In an instant, the elite cavalry tore a bloody path through the enemy lines.
Yet the Dothraki's numbers were overwhelming. They quickly split their forces—some continuing to press the main breach, others turning to surround the elite cavalry.
The battlefield descended into chaos.
The clash of steel, the screams of men and horses, and the dying wails filled the air in a terrible symphony.
The Dragon Soul Guards, with their armor and strength, held their ground in the melee, but the ordinary soldiers suffered heavy losses. The lines wavered in several places.
Blood soaked the earth. The battle had become a brutal deadlock.
Lo Quen cleaved through a roaring warrior who tried to ambush him, his brow furrowing deeply.
The Tattered Prince, drenched in blood, rushed to his side and shouted, "Your Grace! We must find their Khal and cut off his head! If not, they'll grind us down to the last man!"
Lo Quen's gaze flashed like lightning across the vast, chaotic battlefield, his heart sinking.
Finding the Khal was easier said than done.
He possessed a magical greatbow capable of taking a man's head from a thousand feet away—but amid this chaos, the Khal's figure was nowhere to be seen.
Just as he was about to speak, a shock rippled through him—an unmistakable, soul-deep tremor.
Something was awakening in the distant heavens, bound to him by blood.
"ROARRRRRRRRRR!!!"
A thunderous, soul-shaking roar tore through the sky, echoing across the blood-soaked battlefield.
The sound carried both majesty and fury, drowning out every clash and cry below.
Both the frenzied Dothraki and the desperate defenders froze where they stood, weapons still in hand, eyes lifting in awe and terror toward the blinding heights above.
A massive crimson figure plunged from the clouds.
Over thirty feet long, its body was covered in scales that shimmered under the sun with a blood-diamond brilliance. Its vast forewings were nearly transparent, while the hind limbs connected to taut, powerful membranes, granting it breathtaking agility in the air. With an elegant yet forceful spiral, it descended, stirring a storm of howling wind.
Blooddancer.
Its molten-gold eyes burned with fury as it gazed coldly down upon the battlefield, where countless lives clashed below like ants.
"Dragon! Dragon! It's a dragon!!!"
A chorus of terrified screams erupted among the Dothraki ranks.
For a people who worshiped strength and revered the natural world, dragons were creatures of myth—ancient horrors spoken of only in song. Now, that myth had taken form before them. Fear spread swiftly through the warriors who moments ago had fought without fear of death.
But the shock was far from over.
"Roar—!"
"Roar—!"
Two more cries resounded across the heavens, each brimming with power and majesty.
Behind Blooddancer, two smaller shapes tore through the clouds—one silver, one purple.
Silverfall's scales gleamed like flowing mercury, radiant and cold under the sunlight. Duskshadow, cloaked in deep violet armor, shimmered like the starlit depths of a midnight sky.
The three dragons circled above the battlefield, their thunderous roars shaking the earth, their shadows draping the land like the omen of doomsday.
Lo Quen watched Blooddancer wheel through the sky, a long-suppressed smile spreading across his face. Janice had written to him before—the three dragons had grown strong enough to be ridden into battle. This was the hidden trump card he had prepared, the force to turn the tide.
Janice descended astride Duskshadow, landing beside him.
"Your Grace, I'm late."
Lo Quen smiled. "No, you've come at the perfect time."
Then he turned to Jaelena, battlelust igniting in his eyes. "Jaelena, let us ride our dragons and crush the enemy together."
The Tattered Prince and the surrounding Windblown warriors stood frozen in awe. The legendary dragonriders of old now stood before them, alive and real.
Sensing its master's call, Blooddancer let out a low rumble and plunged downward, its massive wings churning the air. The dragon's serpentine neck swung toward a cluster of Dothraki horsemen attempting to approach, and a blinding crimson glow began to burn deep within its throat.
"ROAR—BOOM!!!"
A torrent of dragonfire, thick as molten rock and burning like the heart of the sun, erupted forth, swallowing the horsemen and their steeds in an instant.
They had no time to scream. In the blink of an eye, they were reduced to blackened ash and twisted bone under the infernal heat.
Each dragon bore a specially designed saddle crafted by Maester Qyburn.
Lo Quen vaulted onto Blooddancer's broad, muscular back, gripping the iron handles of the saddle.
Jaelena moved with swift grace, mounting Silverfall as the silver dragon rumbled softly in greeting.
"Roar—!!!"
All three dragons roared as one, their enormous wings beating the air in unison, stirring a storm that swept across the battlefield.
Carrying their riders, the three dragons ascended into the heavens, then dove—unstoppable, merciless—toward the Dothraki horde, their descent blazing with fire and fury.