The holy city, Vaes Dothrak.
"I want my crown! I want my throne! Hahahahaha~"
Legend has it that when the gods created House Targaryen, it was like flipping a coin: one side wise, the other mad. Viserys Targaryen was clearly closer to the latter.
Viserys Targaryen had drunkenly barged into Khal Drogo's tent alone. He was delirious, his handsome face twisted by madness.
The next moment, he drew his longsword.
"How about I kill the bastard in your belly? My dear sister. Look at your ugly body now; do you still have even half the nobility of a Targaryen?"
It had been over a year, and Viserys Targaryen's patience had been worn thin. He saw no sign that Khal Drogo would give him an army or help him attack Westeros.
Seeing his own sister—the wife he had considered his since childhood—actually pregnant with this barbarian's child, the resentment in his heart, fueled by alcohol, exploded completely.
Daenerys had become pregnant while crossing the Dothraki Sea, and after traveling for several more months, they had arrived at the current location, Vaes Dothrak.
Vaes Dothrak was the holy city of the Dothraki people, and in this city, all Dothraki were brothers.
No one was allowed to bring weapons into this city, nor was any blood to be shed. Everyone had to sit down to eat meat and drink together, somewhat like the guest right in Westeros.
Viserys Targaryen, brandishing a longsword with ill intent, had clearly broken the rules. Furthermore, he kept gesturing with his sword at Daenerys's belly, repeatedly provoking her by threatening to kill the child inside.
"Your Grace, please let her go."
"Let go of the khaleesi! Stay away from her!"
"..."
The advice and threats of the others had no effect; instead, they completely enraged the mad Viserys.
"Khal Drogo! I am King of the andals, the rhoynar, and the first men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm; I am Viserys III! Where is my army! Where is the army you owe me! I am going to take the iron throne!"
Viserys roared, like a true dragon spitting scorching dragonfire. The lingering dragon-might of House Targaryen nearly intimidated even Khal Drogo's Blood Riders.
"Khal Drogo! Kneel before me! Acknowledge that I am the true sovereign! I am the true dragon!"
Perhaps Viserys had started going mad from the moment he sold his mother's crown to survive.
The displacement and hardship along the way had completely driven this Targaryen, who had begun his exile at the age of eight, to madness. He had nothing left.
His home was gone, his father was gone, his mother was gone. Even his sister, whom he had considered his wife, no longer belonged to him, and in the end, he couldn't even get the army he had been promised.
Khal Drogo, watching the raving Viserys, finally lost his patience. He unbuckled his heavy, honor-symbolizing gold belt, threw it into an iron pot, and placed it over the roaring fire to melt it down.
Viserys seemed to realize Khal Drogo's ill intentions and was instantly sobered by fear.
He widened his eyes involuntarily, his face full of terror, and he scrambled to run away, trembling all over.
But he was disarmed by the Blood Riders and forced to the ground. He was truly terrified, using his hands and feet to struggle, constantly trying to break free from his restraints.
A sovereign dies standing; a slave lives kneeling. From the madness fueled by alcohol to the cowardice of kneeling and begging for mercy now, his capacity was far from matching his ambition.
"What are you doing! Are you regicides! You band of traitors!"
"Let me go at once! Otherwise, I will kill you all!"
"Let me go! I don't want the crown anymore! I don't want the army! I... I don't want anything anymore!"
"Spare me! I'll do anything!"
"Please! Daenerys! My dear sister! My princess! Spare me! I beg you! Tell them..."
The repeated pleas of her brother Viserys constantly battered Daenerys's heart as they always had, but this time, Daenerys was unusually calm.
She didn't even pay attention to the pleas of Ser Jorah Mormont; she only wanted to protect the child in her belly now.
Once the gold on the belt had melted, Khal Drogo suddenly lifted the iron pot and slammed it directly onto Viserys Targaryen's head.
"Then let me crown our true dragon!" [Dothraki]
Viserys's shrill scream rang out instantly. He wailed and struggled. His legs kicked and twitched wildly in the mud...
At the very end, Viserys lay limply on the ground. He was finally sober, and finally liberated.
He whispered with his last breath: "Mother, why did you entrust the responsibility of reviving House Targaryen to me..."
The molten gold spread from his head down to his face, yet not a single drop of blood flowed.
"A true dragon is not afraid of fire. He was not a true dragon." Daenerys looked at the corpse of her brother Viserys on the ground, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't tell if she was happy or sad.
She only knew one fact: the luck of House Targaryen might truly have run out, and from this moment on, she was the only true dragon left in the world...
...
Not far from the Dothraki.
"Fine, I admit you were right this time. What the hell, is there really a time difference in this world? That guy Viserys Targaryen actually died. Should I say his grace, the prince, is discerning, or prescient?" Ser Archibald Yronwood said with a blank expression.
"As far as I know, the eyes and ears of his grace, the prince, are a shadowbinder from Asshai. God knows what those mystical nutjobs told his grace, the prince."
Gareth Tywin never had any good feelings about those mysterious people from Asshai.
At this moment, Quentyn Martell spoke up. Since Viserys was already dead, he had no other choice but to settle for the next best thing, taking the marriage contract he held and marrying Daenerys Targaryen himself, replacing the original plan for Arianne to marry Viserys Targaryen.
"Since it has already happened, there's no need to dwell on it. I remember my father saying that Khal Drogo would also die soon, right?" Quentyn asked.
"Yes, your grace. Although we don't know the source of the intelligence, I suspect it's that guy from Asshai again." Gareth Tywin shrugged, looking helpless.
"Regardless of the source of the intelligence, I trust my father's judgment." In the heart of Quentyn Martell, his father's status was supreme, and he was someone who would never make a mistake.
...
The Lhazar people were a pastoral group living on the continent of Essos, residing in Lhazar, southeast of the holy city of Vaes Dothrak.
They were peaceful in nature, living contentedly on their own small patch of land, and never took the initiative to conflict with others.
However, the Dothraki often brought troops to raid and plunder them, either stealing large amounts of wealth or directly capturing them to be slaves.
At this moment, Lhazar was not peaceful either.
Golden armor paired with golden longswords shimmered brightly in the moonlight. Their formation was dispersed yet unified, constantly compressing the living space of a group of Dothraki.
This group of Dothraki had fierce looks on their faces, raising their scimitars high. Their leader was Khal Ogo, an old rival of Khal Drogo.
Leading the Golden Company was a young man with silver hair, violet eyes, and holding the Blackfyre sword.
Aegon Targaryen usually presented himself with blue hair and blue eyes, but whenever he channeled the magic within him, he would immediately revert to the original silver hair and violet eyes of House Targaryen.
"What pure magic! I feel my entire soul has been strengthened. You should have killed that waste from House Targaryen sooner," rhllor laughed. Just a moment ago, he had suddenly felt a powerful surge of magic rising into the sky, and he knew it meant Viserys Targaryen was dead.
Aegon Targaryen dodged the incoming blade by turning his body, and with a wave of his left hand, he took control of the man's shadow. Through the synchronization of the shadow, he controlled the man's body to plunge his scimitar into his companion's body.
At this moment, Aegon sensed someone suddenly rushing out from behind to ambush him. With a thought, before the person could even reach him, a shadow pierced his thigh. After he fell with a cry of pain, Aegon casually slit his throat with the Blackfyre sword.
Shadows acted like swords, instantly piercing the chests of one Dothraki after another holding scimitars. Thick blood flowed along the shadows to Aegon Targaryen's feet, and as he walked, his footprints were stained red.
"That's it, that's it! This bloodthirsty feeling is truly fascinating!" rhllor laughed wickedly.
Aegon Targaryen was covered in blood, and the shadows of everyone around him were at his command. Wherever the shadows reached was his home turf.
Aegon had figured it out: if he wanted to control the Dothraki now, the best way was to use Dothraki to lead Dothraki. Therefore, Khal Drogo must not die. If he died, his followers would surely fight among themselves and become scattered sand.
So Aegon led the Golden Company to strike first, killing Khal Ogo, the opponent in the plot who would severely injure Khal Drogo, who was currently in Lhazar, to ensure that Khal Drogo would not be given the opportunity to be ambushed by that witch later.
Aegon didn't care about right or wrong regarding Khal Drogo, Khal Ogo, and the witch.
Moreover, this guy Khal Ogo was really not a good person; before Aegon arrived, Khal Ogo had already led his men to plunder Lhazar once.
As their leader Khal Ogo was killed, Aegon looked around and found that there were no living Dothraki left in Lhazar; they had all been killed clean.
"Your Grace, we have won. Twenty-five injured, three dead." Jon Clinton stepped forward to report the Golden Company's battle casualties. This battle was a surprise attack on one hand, and the opponent's equipment was too poor on the other, making it almost a one-sided slaughter.
"I know. Clean up the battlefield first. Take Khal Ogo's head; it's time for us to meet Khal Drogo. Doing good deeds without leaving a name is not my style."
"Yes, Your Grace." Jon Clinton glanced at Aegon and turned to leave.
"Aegon, I really didn't misjudge you. You are becoming more and more adapted to my power." rhllor's voice was evil and terrifying, and there was half a sentence he didn't say out loud. rhllor thought to himself: Your body is also becoming more and more adapted to my soul.
"rhllor, I advise you not to think about certain things anymore." Aegon Targaryen always held great wariness toward rhllor. He believed this guy definitely had ill intentions toward him, and he wouldn't be stupid enough to hand his heart over to this evil guy calling himself rhllor.
"Hahaha, the Lady of Light won't care about you, a tiny believer. One day, you will still come to beg me."