"Witch! Go to hell! Pah!"
Pah! Pah! Pah!
The warriors under Khal Drogo's command loathed the two-faced Haixi. Spittle rained down like a storm, and the mermaid finally understood what it meant to be drowned in saliva.
Had she been an ordinary woman rather than a mermaid, the Dothraki would have already pounced on her, teaching her the true meaning of despair.
The wound in her lower abdomen left Haixi in excruciating pain, and she was completely surrounded, layer upon layer, unable to resist in the slightest.
Proud as she was, Haixi could not bear such vile humiliation. She kept wiping the foul-smelling filth from her face, sobbing in disgust.
"Uuuh…"
But she shed no tears—for mermaids had no tears to cry.
When the crowd had cursed themselves hoarse, Drogo raised a hand and barked, "Enough. Let me send her to hell myself."
"Heh."
The mermaid sneered, glaring coldly at him. Her lips moved softly, murmuring in a language none present could understand.
She had wanted to mutter her spell earlier but had kept her lips tightly shut, afraid of swallowing the Dothraki's spit.
"Die!"
Drogo despised nothing more than enemies who remained arrogantly defiant at death's door. Roaring with fury, he swung down his arakh.
He had originally wanted to slowly torment the mermaid, to carve her into pieces a thousand times over to sate his rage. But the eerie calm in her eyes sparked a sense of foreboding—so he decided to kill Haixi quickly.
Yet his blade, swift as it was, couldn't outrun the danger that followed.
BOOM!
A towering pillar of water exploded skyward from the spot where the sea dragon had fallen, like an undersea volcano erupting. At its heart surged a blindingly radiant creature, brighter than the sun itself.
The brilliance was so intense that everyone instinctively shut their eyes.
In the darkness, Drogo heard a single splash. When he reopened his eyes, he saw Haixi sprawled across the back of Naga—who now crackled with electrical energy—and soaring into the distance.
BOOM! BOOM!
The draconic brothers—black and green—were not fooled by the glare. Driven by vengeance for their wounded kin and father, they pursued Naga and rained dragonfire upon her.
Haixi urged the sea dragon forward at full speed, fleeing with no intent to fight.
Just as she approached the far horizon, Naga, reborn from the brink of death, dove into the deep sea and vanished from sight.
The sea dragon's electric aura was even more intense than before, exuding power. But Drogo sensed it was just a final burst before death—it would not last long. Why else would it flee?
Haixi's escape meant a supernatural force beyond mortal resistance would now fixate on him. Yet Drogo felt no fear.
Haixi might indeed be touched by divinity—but he was Khal Drogo, the great conqueror. He feared no death. If war came, he would meet it head-on.
Killing the mermaid or letting her escape made little difference. Only by uprooting her entire faction could he remove the threat once and for all.
Staring westward toward the vanishing horizon, Drogo muttered coldly, "If you dare return… I will kill you."
Haixi prided herself as a daughter of the sea—but her strength was meager. That alone made the khal suspect that the gods were perhaps not as mighty as the legends claimed.
He had just fought a battle far beyond ordinary comprehension. His body still sizzled with pain from the electric shock, his eyelids heavy and hard to lift. But there was no time to rest—many of the warships were now taking on water.
If the supplies and men aboard the damaged vessels weren't transferred quickly, any sunken ship would mean greater losses.
Under Drogo's weary but decisive command, the warriors abandoned the ruined ships and focused on saving the good ones.
This made the already tight space aboard even more cramped.
But such hardship was necessary. Lives mattered more than comfort. Without waiting for complaints, Drogo solemnly promised his people that the current difficulty would soon be resolved.
His men believed him without question. Their khal had never disappointed them.
Drogo ordered the maesters to tally the losses and casualties, then commanded the entire fleet to head at full speed toward the Ghiscar Straits, where they could restock whatever they lacked.
After dealing with the most urgent matters, Drogo allowed the healer to tend his wounds briefly. Then, leaning on his wife, he made his way into the cabin.
Many affairs still required his attention, but he simply couldn't go on. He desperately needed rest.
Once his head hit the pillow, Drogo slept straight through to the following evening.
During battle, adrenaline dulled pain—but now that safety had returned, exhaustion and agony rushed in.
For the next week, Drogo remained in his cabin receiving treatment. He no longer worried about provisions or personnel—Daenerys had taken care of all that in his stead.
The khal was deeply moved, and, despite the healers' protests, insisted on letting his wife spend the night as a reward.
Daenerys agreed with a smile. Even though her husband hadn't fully recovered, she was the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea—the tigress in her khal's heart.
And the best medicine for her husband… was her.
The electric burns and internal injuries from Drogo's fall into the sea slowly began to heal with time and care.
To pass the time during his recovery, he learned Sivass, a strategy board game that originated in Volantis and spread via trade routes.
The healer who cared for him was a devoted Sivass player and taught Drogo the rules. The two of them began to play fiercely.
At first, Drogo lost every match. But once he got the hang of it—even giving the healer a "dragon head" advantage—he never lost again.
The healer was awestruck. Sivass was designed as a military strategy model used by commanders—and Drogo was clearly a natural-born warlord.
As a warrior, rehabilitation was key. Once he could move, Drogo resumed daily morning exercises, sometimes sparring with Grey Worm.
The gluttonous giant Roman, eager to work off his overeating and bond with his khal, offered to train too—but Drogo flatly refused such an unfair challenge. Instead, he assigned a dragon to be his sparring partner.
A previous blast of dragonfire had nearly roasted him alive in full armor. Roman knew better than to tempt fate—he fled back to his cabin and didn't show his face for days, much to the joy of those he had once bullied.
At sea, moments of joy were always fleeting. It was the grim realities that truly wore men down.
After nearly half a year of sailing, the fleet had yet to find a city for resupply. Fresh drinking water and nutrient-rich food were running dangerously low.
Day after day of fish and smoked meat, without vegetables like carrots, left the troops severely malnourished.
Many had come down with scurvy.
Even Drogo—strong as he was and barely recovered from injury—had begun suffering from mouth ulcers, blurred vision, and serious insomnia.
Solving the food crisis had become a matter of life and death.
-
-
-
🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
📢 Fire and Blood! 📢
Dragon King of Ice and Fire has 200+ chapters ahead available on Patreon! 🐲🔥❄️
Rule Westeros with dragons long before public readers catch up.
🛑 Also on Patreon:
Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
Cyberpunk: The Relentless
Cyberpunk: Lucy Adopted Me and I Got a System
My Cyberpunk 2077 Simulator
My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
The Rebirth of Harry Potter
Star Wars: Relics of the Past
R18: Reincarnated in Her World
🔗 www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus👤 SrMagnus🐦 https://x.com/SrMagnusBook
⚠️ The more Power Stones, the faster the conquest!