GOT: Molten Crown Chapter 241 241: The Dragonriders Advance

The Dragonriders possessed mounted combat skills no less than the roaring warriors.

They also had longbow techniques the roaring warriors lacked.

And most importantly, they wore armor the Dothraki had never possessed.

After years of accumulation, the Targaryens were imnsely wealthy.

Not only were the soldiers armored, even their horses were equipped with protection.

An elderly Dothraki warrior tried to use his agility advantage.

Standing atop his horse, he seized the mont and leapt onto a Dragonrider's mount.

His curved blade slashed hard at the rider's neck.

But the expected spray of blood never ca.

Chainmail protected the Dragonrider's throat. The strike did not even make him cough.

Before the old warrior could attack again, three arrows pierced his chest.

Looking down at the bloodied arrowheads, he felt all his strength drain away.

He could not even attempt another strike. His body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground.

A comrade from afar had saved the Dragonrider.

Scenes like this repeated again and again as the Dragonriders continued to push forward.

Arthur Dayne, a figure like a god of war, was also skilled with the longbow.

Though he had only begun training with it in his twenties, his natural talent with weapons was undeniable.

His archery rivaled anyone in the army.

Yet he preferred close combat, the clash of blades and the feel of flesh and steel.

Clad in white cloak and silver armor, Arthur charged at the front. Dozens of Dragonriders supported him from behind.

At this rate, by afternoon, Viserys could drive all the Dothraki into the lake.

But at that mont, Connington suddenly noticed sothing alarming.

Directly ahead of them, part of the line was on the verge of collapse.

"Hold the line! Reinforce it!" Ogo was the first to react, leading several thousand cavalry to plug the breach.

But it was as if so terrifying beast lurked there.

No one could hold the line for even a mont.

Connington quickly raised his spyglass.

What he saw filled him with dread.

That small section of the battlefield was filled with dust, shattered bodies, and severed limbs flung through the air.

He was reminded of a battle described in ancient histories.

After unleashing dragonfire, a dragon had dived into enemy ranks, tearing through them with claws and fangs.

What he saw now felt no different.

It was as if a dragon was rampaging through their lines.

'A chariot? War elephants? Or...'

His mind raced, trying to identify what could cause such devastation. Then, from the swirling dust, a figure erged.

Tall, yet impossibly fast.

Twin curved blades in hand, each swing sending limbs flying. Unarmored, yet moving like a god wielding lightning.

It was Khal Drogo.

His movents were swift and fluid. His black hair whipped through the air like the mane of a lion in battle.

As if sensing the gaze upon him, he looked up toward Connington.

He grinned.

Within the circular view of the spyglass, Drogo's pupils were no longer round. They had beco square.

For a mont, Connington felt as though he had seen a demon.

His heart skipped a beat.

He sucked in a breath and lowered the spyglass.

Drogo continued his slaughter.

Around him, Dothraki warriors threw themselves forward without regard for their lives.

They smashed their bodies against steel and spears, clearing the way for their khal.

These warriors had witnessed miracles.

So of them had beco part of those miracles.

In their eyes, victory was inevitable. No matter the bloodshed, no matter the cost, victory would be theirs.

"The Horse God watches!"

An old Dothraki rider, hair already white, charged forward even as a spear pierced through his body.

Before dying, he swung his curved blade against a Targaryen soldier's armor.

The blade left only a faint mark.

"The Horse God—"

A Targaryen soldier of Rhoynar descent saw a boy no older than his own brother rush toward him.

His body reacted instinctively, striking back.

But the shock lingered in his mind.

Facing a strong enemy was one thing. Facing enemies who did not fear death was another entirely.

And among them, Drogo was the most terrifying of all.

When Ogo saw him, it was like witnessing a blood-soaked beast.

Drogo ripped a spear from a Targaryen soldier, dragged him out of formation, and crushed his skull with a single punch.

Then he grabbed the corpse by the ankle and began swinging it like a hamr.

A fully armored soldier weighed at least two hundred pounds.

With such a weapon, no one could stand in his way.

Under this assault, a formation barely a dozen ters deep was quickly shattered.

Ogo, arriving at the scene, saw everything. For a mont, he felt as though he were looking at a legendary beast.

An urge rose within him.

To strip off his clothes.

To regrow his braid.

To kneel at Drogo's feet.

He no longer felt capable of competing for the title of the strongest khal.

So of his own n felt the sa fear, as if it seeped from their bones. But Drogo gave them no chance to hesitate.

He had already noticed Ogo.

With a sudden motion, he hurled the armored corpse like a projectile.

The body flew like a cannonball.

Ogo fell from his horse in terror.

The corpse smashed into the horse, breaking its spine instantly. The animal cried out and collapsed.

Connington imdiately signaled to Lothan, but he had already seen what was happening.

Soon, Drogo noticed sothing strange.

Mist began to gather around him.

"What is this?"

"Magic!"

"The cowardly Free Cities use sorcery!"

The frenzied Dothraki began to slow. The mist thickened, obscuring their vision.

They could no longer tell direction from distance.

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