"No—!!!"
Beside Khal Drogo, the Kos and Bloodriders who had witnessed the scene stood frozen, the fervor and anticipation on their faces turning to pure disbelief. In their place came horror and despair.
The Dragonbone Bow they had revered as an invincible weapon—capable of piercing any armor—had failed to even scratch the scales of that colossal dragon.
It shattered everything they believed in. Their faith, their courage, their pride—all crumbled in an instant.
A wave of fear and hopelessness crashed over them like a storm.
For the first time, a trace of shock and doubt flickered in Khal Drogo's eyes. His knuckles turned white from the pressure of his grip on the Dragonbone Bow.
High above, Lo Quen felt the faint vibration of the arrow striking Blooddancer's scales. He could see clearly the look of disbelief on Khal Drogo's face below—and the despair spreading across his Bloodriders as their faith collapsed.
A cold smile curved his lips, the killing intent in his eyes burning even brighter.
"You thought the Dragonbone Bow could kill me? A bold attempt." His voice was cold and mocking. "But your bow just isn't worthy."
Before the last word faded, Lo Quen reached beside the saddle and drew a different bow—stranger, darker, radiating an ominous power.
Its body gleamed with a deep, shadowed black, the curve of its limbs unnaturally fluid, like the spine of a living creature. Across the surface, dense crimson runes pulsed faintly, glowing with the rhythm of blood and magic.
It was the Dragonbone Bow he had reforged and inscribed with blood sorcery.
On the ground, Drogo and his Bloodriders froze at the sight of it.
The dragonrider also wielded a Dragonbone Bow—larger, darker, and far more dreadful than their own.
Lo Quen didn't spare them another glance. His movements were swift and precise.
He drew a pitch-black arrow from his quiver, pulled the bowstring to its full length, and poured his magic into the weapon.
Hummm—!!!
A deep, resonant vibration filled the air, echoing like a drumbeat of destruction. The arrow burst into flame, glowing with an infernal light.
"Now—taste my bow."
Lo Quen's gaze locked on Khal Drogo below, who had just regained his composure and was reaching for his bow once more.
"Khal! Look out!!!"
Bloodrider Cohollo finally broke free from his shock, his voice cracking in desperation. He and Haggo, Qotho, and the others threw themselves forward, trying in vain to shield their Khal from the deadly glow aimed at him.
But they were far too late.
Lo Quen released the string.
Whoosh—!!!
The flaming arrow screamed through the sky, a streak of crimson death moving faster than sight itself. It tore through the air, ignoring distance, resistance, and the futile movements below. It struck unerringly toward Khal Drogo's heart.
Drogo's pupils widened to their limits. He saw the burning streak of light descending upon him. He tried to move—but against that supernatural speed, his body felt unbearably slow.
Thud—!!!
A sharp, heavy sound split the air.
The blazing arrow pierced Drogo's chest without resistance, shattering through flesh and bone, impaling his heart.
His massive frame jerked violently, frozen mid-motion.
He looked down in disbelief at the wound in his chest—a gaping hole the size of a bowl, its edges charred black.
No blood flowed. Instead, sparks flickered from within, blooming like tiny stars. The flame caught the wind and roared to life, engulfing his entire body in an instant.
Khal Drogo screamed—a sound of pure agony that tore through the battlefield—as fire consumed him whole.
Time seemed to stop.
Around him, the Kos and Bloodriders—Cohollo, Haggo, Qotho—stood petrified, their faces drained of all color.
Their eyes reflected nothing but shock and disbelief.
They had seen the unstoppable arrow.
They had seen it pierce their Khal's chest.
And they had seen the moment the great Khal Drogo was devoured by fire.
"Ka... Khal?!"
Cohollo's voice trembled.
"Im... impossible..." Haggo muttered, his gaze empty and unfocused.
"The great Drogo... he's... he's..."
Qotho's legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees with a thud, his hands clawing helplessly into the scorched earth.
The mightiest Khal of the plains—the Horselord of Horselords—had not fallen to dragonfire, but to a flaming arrow from another, far greater Dragonbone Bow. His death, swift and absolute, defied belief.
"Khal—!!!"
For a brief, stunned moment, silence reigned. Then came the Bloodriders' screams—raw, anguished howls that tore through the smoke and sky.
Cohollo, Haggo, and Qotho went mad.
Their Khal's death had stripped away their last shred of reason.
"Avenge the Khal!!!"
"Kill him! Kill that demon!!!"
They roared like beasts, their voices breaking as they snatched up their bows, loosing arrows wildly toward Lo Quen.
"Fools who don't know death when it's already upon them." Lo Quen's voice was cold as ice.
"ROAR—!"
"ROAR—!"
"ROAR—!"
Blooddancer, Silverfall, and Duskshadow answered with ear-splitting fury from above.
Three torrents of Dragonfire—crimson, silver, and violet—poured down together, merging into one inferno of annihilation. In an instant, the charging Bloodriders and their last followers were swallowed by fire.
BOOM!!!
Their desperate charge vanished like moths plunging into flame.
The battlefield fell into dead silence.
Only the faint crackle of burning embers broke the stillness.
Every Dothraki who had witnessed their Khal's death—who had seen the Bloodriders reduced to ash—felt the last spark of resistance snuffed out within them.
Despair swept the plains. The remaining warriors, once fierce as storms, now screamed in terror, scattering like hunted animals in every direction.
Lo Quen, astride Blooddancer, roared to his army, "Pursue the barbarians! Don't let a single one escape!"
The Dragon Soul Guard heavy cavalry spurred forward, cutting off the fleeing horsemen. The soldiers, their morale surging, joined the chase with renewed vigor, capturing and cutting down those who ran.
The Tattered Prince quickly rallied the Windblown, barking orders as they swept out to pursue the scattered Dothraki.
Blooddancer let out another thunderous roar beneath Lo Quen. Crimson dragonfire spewed into the sky before crashing down to earth, sealing the horsemen's path of retreat.
Jaelena and Janice understood immediately, commanding Silverfall and Duskshadow to unleash their flames as well, driving the terrified Dothraki to their knees in surrender.
Lo Quen watched the horsemen wailing and groveling for mercy, a dark satisfaction swelling in his chest.
He didn't understand their tongue—but from the Khal's appearance, he was certain it had been Drogo himself.
Khal Drogo, ruler of the largest khalasar in the Dothraki Sea, had commanded more than forty thousand warriors and had never known defeat.
Even if Drogo had not come for him, Lo Quen would have sought him out eventually.
Now, under the walls of Myr, the horsemen had been crushed completely—saving Lo Quen the trouble.