"Kerse!"
Drogo almost roared his name, his voice laden with determination and defiance. "I challenge you!"
Kerse stopped.
His eyes locked onto Drogo with absolute calm.
Unlike the Drogo remembered in the stories, this one wore his braid noticeably shorter and bore a deep scar on his shoulder, with the unmistakable shape of a bite.
Both were my doing, I thought with disdain.
He lost the braid when he fell defeated by my hand.
The bite… well, that was an old habit. Back then, I hadn't yet "modernized" myself.
I smiled contemptuously at his challenge. That man was nothing more than a defeated general. For some time now I had noticed the way he looked at Daenerys, a poorly concealed mix of desire and ambition.
At first, I decided to keep him alive only because I planned to use him in the ritual to incubate the dragon eggs that Illyrio was supposed to gift me.
But Illyrio did not deliver the eggs.
Instead, he gave me a dragonbone bow.
"May the Horse God bear witness to our battle," Drogo proclaimed in a loud, powerful voice, echoing throughout the tent.
Illyrio and his men stepped back to clear the space. The others, far from trying to stop the confrontation, formed a wide circle, watching with gleaming eyes and savage smiles.
"Fight!"
"Fight!"
The chant rose in unison, like the roar of a hungry beast.
"Heh," I mocked. "A general who already lost to me and even lost his braid dares to challenge me?"
My lips curled into a cruel grin as I stepped forward.
I planted myself in front of Drogo. He was half a meter shorter than me.
The battle was about to begin.
The bloodriders tightened their grip on their weapons, watching the crowd to prevent any interference. The circle closed, the cheers grew louder, and the air filled with tension and anticipation.
Drogo's body was covered in muscle and scars, but none stood out as much as the bite mark on his shoulder.
I, on the other hand, bore no braids, no tattoos, no visible marks. Yet my body was forged of pure muscle and exuded a suffocating, almost bestial pressure.
Though Drogo stood nearly two meters tall, he looked thin and fragile beside me.
Daenerys watched from the crowd, her face flushed, unable to tear her gaze away from my naked body.
The duel began.
Drogo roared like a wild beast and charged at me. The ground trembled beneath his steps. The arakh traced a shining arc under the firelight, fast and deadly.
Drogo's supporters shouted and beat their chests, convinced that my end stood before them.
But I was faster.
I dodged every attack with ease, and after each evasion, my hand crashed back into his face. Again and again.
The crowd began to realize it.
This was not a duel.
It was a public humiliation.
I never used a weapon.
I never used my full strength.
When boredom finally caught up with me, I decided to end it.
I surged forward and seized his neck with my left hand.
I squeezed.
"Ah…!"
Drogo screamed as blood burst from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His body convulsed for a few seconds before going still.
I released his neck.
The body fell heavily to the ground.
Silence.
Then, celebration erupted.
Illyrio stepped forward with a nervous smile and applauded.
"What a great battle. Defeating his opponent with ease. Khal Kerse is, without a doubt, the chosen of the God Thor, Horse Head."
I did not respond.
I simply looked at the body on the ground.
One king less.