Accompanied by several hundred elite guards, Tormo rode with Drogo to the front of the battlefield.
Because of the Targaryen fleet, his army could not launch an attack together with the Dothraki.
Tormo had to keep watch over the thirty warships stationed along the Upper Rhoyne.
If they were flanked from both sides, the army's morale would collapse.
"Khal Drogo," Tormo said, "our scouts have already investigated. The enemy has around thirty to forty thousand men. Most of them are new recruits. There are very few veterans."
After hearing the translation, Drogo nodded.
That was exactly what he had expected.
Among the city-states, large-scale troop movements were impossible to conceal.
In many ways, intelligence flowed in both directions.
Only once battle began could a clever commander create the effect of a sudden and unexpected strike.
In Drogo's mind, Illyrio's value rose slightly.
If not for the fat merchant's suggestion, he would probably still be on the Golden Plains, clashing head-on with Viserys's heavily armored infantry.
Just then, four or five well-armored riders emerged from the Targaryen camp.
They carried the banner of the three-headed dragon and rode swiftly toward them.
Tormo immediately ordered his guards to be on alert.
Drogo, however, remained calm.
He rode forward, leaving behind the protection of his guards. Only three bloodriders and a translator followed him.
The mountain wind lifted his long braid like a banner that would never fall.
In his eyes, if those riders dared attack him, they would simply be seeking death.
Under the black banner of the three-headed dragon, Clement also rode forward slowly.
His task was to show just enough weakness to reassure Drogo, drawing the Dothraki army closer to the range of the longbows.
But he could not appear too weak, or the enemy might grow suspicious.
Viserys had personally discussed the balance with him many times beforehand.
After rehearsing the situation repeatedly in his mind, Clement had gradually gained confidence.
Yet when he finally faced Drogo, his heart still skipped a beat.
The khal stood nearly two meters tall, towering over those around him. The difference was like that between a lion and a wolf.
I cannot defeat him.
No one can defeat him.
The thought appeared in Clement's mind without warning, making every muscle in his body tense.
His horse sensed its rider's unease and snorted nervously.
Originally, Clement had intended to ride forward until he stood face-to-face with the khal, no more than ten steps apart.
But he could not force himself any closer. He stopped when they were still thirty steps apart.
Swallowing hard, Clement raised his voice.
"Khal Drogo, I represent His Majesty Viserys and have come to negotiate."
After hearing the translation, Drogo let out a cold laugh.
"Did your king not say that if I wanted gold and marriage, I should come take them myself? Why not just start the war? What is there to discuss?"
"His Majesty says he may offer you additional gold," Clement replied stiffly. "But marriage is absolutely impossible."
He kept his face rigid.
Whatever happened, he could not disgrace Viserys. When war came, there could be no hesitation.
If he lost his composure now, he would never be able to lift his head again.
Yet Drogo still noticed the fear in his voice. His eyes drifted briefly to Clement's hands, clenched tightly around the reins.
Drogo snorted.
Beside him, Haggo called out loudly.
"What? Is marriage with our khal beneath the dignity of House Targaryen?"
"No… no, that is not the case," Clement stammered. "Our king would gladly be your friend. It is only that Princess Daenerys is still too young—"
Seven gods above, what am I even saying?
Clement could feel the strange looks from the men behind him. But under the crushing pressure, he could think of nothing better.
"What of it?" Drogo said with a grin.
"I can raise her myself. She need not share my bed until she is twelve."
Drogo laughed.
To him, the Targaryens had now revealed their weakness.
"There is no need for further discussion," he said.
"Tomorrow morning, I will come to Gohor and take her myself." With that, Drogo tugged the reins and turned his horse around.
Clement watched him ride away, then turned back as well.
But as soon as he did, he saw the amused expressions on the faces of his companions.
Perhaps to prove himself, or perhaps to release the humiliation burning inside him, Clement suddenly wheeled his horse around again.
"Drogo!" he shouted angrily.
"You deserve to burn in the seven hells! You barbarian! What right do you have to swagger here?"
Drogo did not understand the Common Tongue well.
But he recognized his own name.
He turned sharply, only to see Clement already riding away in the distance.
"Keep your eyes on him," Drogo growled. "I will cut off his head myself."
"Yes, Khal."
Watching Clement's performance from a distant hillside, Viserys rubbed his temples.
Talented diplomats were rare.
Having someone like the Onion Knight—now Ser Onion—was already fortunate enough.
Still, Clement had unintentionally accomplished his mission.
The impression of outward strength hiding inner weakness had probably been conveyed.
Now all that remained was to wait for Drogo to launch his attack.
"We have already confirmed the power of the longbows," Viserys said to his commanders.
"Even against armored enemies, arrows fired at one hundred and fifty paces can cause serious casualties."
"This battle is not merely about victory."
"We must destroy as many of the horse lords as possible."
He pointed toward the map.
"Some of the longbowmen will move around their flanks and encircle them. There are more than sixty thousand Dothraki here."
"We must destroy at least half of them."
Viserys intended to fight a battle of annihilation.
In most wars, destroying fifty percent of an enemy force was already considered a decisive victory.
They had to seize this opportunity while the power of the longbow was still unknown to the world.
Once their enemies adapted, such a chance would never appear again.
"Clement. Marcus. You will lead the flanking forces and encircle Drogo's army."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Ser Willem. Ser Ock. Your heavy infantry will divide the battlefield."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Remember this well," Viserys said. "Do not try to face Drogo in single combat."
"None of you—not even Arthur—can defeat him."
"If Drogo attempts to break through your lines, order the longbowmen to focus their fire on him."
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The moment Viserys admitted that even Arthur could not defeat Drogo, every officer became deadly serious.
Through the opening of his tent, Viserys looked down at the Dothraki army below the mountains.
He remembered that in another timeline, Drogo had already died before Daenerys walked into the flames.
Perhaps Drogo's life or death had little to do with whether the dragon eggs hatched. As long as Viserys obtained the man's body, it would be enough.
After this battle, Viserys would also be able to grant the essence of the Roaring Warriors to his longbowmen.
Longbowmen combined with Roaring Warriors.
Such an army would make both Westeros and the Free Cities tremble.
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