The Saen River thundered and roared, like a wild horse freed from its reins, leaping across the plains.
At any moment, the Khal's wrath might surge like this torrential river, thought the old man Ofor. Would he die by the legendary branch—or the dagger?
Ofor did not know if he feared death, only that he hoped, above all, to survive.
The Khal's decisions were unquestionable; his authority not to be challenged. Ofor had almost lost his mind just now, daring to refuse the Khal's request and to speak boldly of another's mistakes.
His cloudy eyes turned nostalgically toward the northwest, waiting for the final judgment.
Then, Möngke Khal's calm yet commanding voice rang out again:
"Ofor, do you recognize the writing on this stone?"
It was the most beautiful sound the elder had ever heard. He hurried forward, eager to examine it.
Seeing Ofor's impatience, Möngke knew his feigned silence had had its intended effect.
"It's Valyrian," Ofor said, "The stones are signposts. This one points to the city of Isalia, now the ruins of Vis Kadok. And the one below points to…"
Ofor's lips moved, but he could not continue. Möngke stepped forward, pressing the question:
"Never thought you'd understand Valyrian. The lower stone—where does it lead?"
Feeling the subtle pressure in Möngke's tone, Ofor struggled to remain composed. He knew this was no illusion. In the past seven days, countless traces of the legendary Khal had revealed themselves.
He had learned that Möngke Khal was not only strong and brave but possessed a subtlety and wisdom lacking in many other Khaals.
The elder took a deep breath and spoke with forced calm:
"Khal, this Valyrian Avenue also leads northwest to Seas. The Salor cling to life there, but the city has long fallen. Hunger, poverty, and disease remain."
"Is that so?" Möngke's lips curved slightly. "Then, wise Ofor, the Salor hide here, clinging to the remnants of their glory. Once I destroy them, I will grant them their final honor."
Ofor's breath caught. He fell silent.
Möngke fixed his gaze on the elder, expressionless, continuing:
"You carry both Dothraki and Salor blood. The bronze skin is Dothraki, the long, slender limbs are Salor. Yet you do not embrace Dothraki culture, admiring the Salor civilization instead. You call the tribe 'Dothraki' and yourself 'Tangazan Fain,' but in your heart, you honor the name of the Salor."
Ofor's eyes betrayed the sting of truth. Wrinkles deepened on his forehead, his beard trembling as he spoke with emotion:
"The Salor's elite warriors fought from spoked chariots. The driver would be the wife or daughter of a warrior. Women fought alongside men—this was the Salor's tradition and glory."
Reverence and longing filled his gaze at the mention of the Salor.
Then, anger flickered in his eyes. His hoarse voice rumbled:
"The Dothraki, however, deem the most vital moments of life to occur beneath the open sky. There is no privacy. In the gaze of the tribe, people mate like animals, even sharing their wives with kin, with neither shame nor guilt."
Möngke watched the elder's weathered face twist with emotion. He understood that the Dothraki concept of guilt and shame differed entirely from other peoples—and some customs even he could not accept.
Once his anger subsided, Ofor trembled and bowed his head. Calm returned as he realized the man before him was indeed a Dothraki Khal.
Though Ofor often claimed disdain for Dothraki ways, he lived strictly within their traditions—a true Dothraki with a rebellious mind.
Möngke sighed at the shadows of childhood and gently patted Ofor's shoulder, speaking softly:
"I will not punish you. Your mother was Salor, yes? She raised and taught you within the tribe."
Ofor kept his head bowed, silent.
Möngke continued:
"I swear by the God of Horses: I, Möngke Khal, will not punish you. I will not slaughter Seas. By the Holy Mother Mountain and the Womb Lake of the World, I swear: I will be the Khal to change the Dothraki, to make them as great as the Salor Kingdom or the Valyrian civilization."
At last, Ofor lifted his head, then knelt:
"Möngke Khal, I swear by the gods of Tangazan Fain, by the God of Horses and all the deities of the world, by the Holy Mother Mountain and the Womb Lake of the World: I, Ofor, am of the same blood as you. This is the mercy destiny has granted me."
Möngke helped Ofor to his feet, gazing at the weathered face of the elder.
"I know this may pain you, but I wish to understand what your Salor mother taught you. This will guide how I use your talents."
Ofor stood in silence, recalling memories. Moments later he spoke:
"My mother's lineage traces back to Mazoro Alayshu, the last supreme king of the Salor Kingdom. Besides the Salor language, she taught me Valyrian—both High and Low—as well as Qeuerth and the common tongue of the Narrow Sea, giving me knowledge of all Essos history."
Möngke was momentarily speechless. He had thought the elder a mere sage among the Dothraki; now he realized he had found a treasure—an expert in geography, history, and four foreign languages. A rare talent by any standard.
Ofor had spent his life among the Dothraki, likely never using any skill beyond riding and fighting. He had little awareness of his abilities, and yet remained in the Dothraki Sea.
Seeing Möngke unshaken, Ofor hurried to add:
"The Valyrian I know includes both High and Low Valyrian."
Möngke's mind surged like the roaring Saen. High and Low Valyrian—the equivalent of the standard tongue and nine regional dialects, all fluent.
Ofor, fully aflame with zeal, eager for recognition, blurted out:
"I can also help you deal with the three Khas's Bloodriders in the tribe."
He believed that Möngke, so powerful, had not yet attacked Vis Kadok because he carefully considered the terrain and strategy. The three Khas's Bloodriders might seize the opportunity to break from the tribe.
In truth, Möngke sought to claim the enemy's tribe with minimal casualties. He shared this concern about the three Khas's Bloodriders. Though they had pledged allegiance, time together had been brief, and hesitation in battle could prove fatal.
For this reason, Möngke had a plan. To realize his ambition, he had to honor the opponents, then tapped Ofor on the shoulder, signaling he recognized his talent.