The crimson slanting sun withdrew its vitality, casting shimmering blood-like reflections on the river's surface, as though life itself had ignited and bloomed in a fleeting moment of beauty.
In the wake of obliteration, the land nourished by blood would surely bear splendid flowers in the coming year.
With their massive axes, the "Jakarang" severed the heads of the dead and the dying, while the young girls, nimble as ever, retrieved arrows from the fallen corpses, laughing as they placed them in their woven baskets.
The struggle for resources, the thinning of populations, ensuring that the victorious side would have more space to thrive and more supplies to sustain them, had long since been ingrained into the very essence of the Dothraki people, as if war itself were a biological instinct, etched into their genes.
The blazing flames illuminated the sky in a fiery red, as Mogo rode his warhorse, surveying the wounded Roaring Warriors. Every gaze directed at him was filled with reverence and fervor.
At that moment, Orf rode toward him, bowed deeply, and then spoke:
"Great Kaoh, you have lost over three hundred warriors, but in return, you have conquered more than thirty-five thousand new tribes. According to the new tribes' recognition, Jomokao and his blood-bound guards, along with all his raiders, are all dead."
The elderly Dothraki, having participated in countless battles, had never witnessed such an exaggerated outcome. Now, he almost believed that the young Kaoh standing before him was indeed blessed by the gods, just as Mogo himself had proclaimed: it was the gods who had tied the enemy's defeat to their braids.
He had observed the entire battle, and had also been part of the rapid march to outflank the Dark Stream River and launch a surprise attack on the Long Bridge. Yet, even now, he found it hard to believe.
A glint of joy flashed across Mogo's face as the twilight light touched his lips, his heart unable to suppress its exhilaration. He spoke aloud:
"In the name of Kaoh, take care of the new tribes. Once they surrender to me, they shall be of the same bloodline and must not be insulted. If anyone goes against my will, I shall personally behead them."
"Wise Kaoh, I shall obey your command," Orf said, his smile widening, though he did not leave immediately. Instead, he continued, "I also wish to recommend a warrior to you."
Mogo glanced around, seeing no one behind the elderly man, and asked, puzzled, "Where is he? Has he fallen among the injured?"
At that moment, Orf's gaze faltered, unwilling to meet Mogo's eyes. He awkwardly responded, "He's just a runaway slave, but he has been caught. Now, Kosoro plans to personally execute him."
Mogo smiled indifferently, already suspecting the truth. Yet, he did not respond immediately. Instead, he asked, "Administrator, I trust you have your reasons for recommending this man, but I also trust Kosoro. What is it about this slave that warrants his death?"
Orf, sensing Mogo's growing curiosity, relaxed slightly and explained in a soft voice:
"This man was originally a slave of the Jomokao tribe. Before the battle ended, he seized the opportunity during the chaos on the eastern shore to steal a horse and flee the battlefield. Along the way, our scouts found him, and after injuring twelve men, he was captured."
Seeing Mogo's displeasure, Orf hurriedly added, "All twelve were only lightly wounded. The slave didn't use excessive force. Had he done so, he would have escaped."
Mogo, now intrigued by the slave, saw an opportunity—provided the man would serve him. Throughout history, many notable individuals had risen from slavery.
He was willing to give the slave a chance, but would not act irrationally by pardoning him outright.
After a moment of thought, Mogo glanced at the anxious old man, and, seeing his eager expression, announced loudly:
"You may go to Kosoro now. If the slave still lives, convey my command: he will be punished according to Dothraki law for fleeing slaves. He shall receive fifty lashes from a horsewhip, after which he will be inducted into Kosoro's Kas. If he tries to escape again, Kosoro is to kill him in the cruelest manner. This slave must kill twelve enemies on the battlefield before he can truly be forgiven."
Orf immediately broke into a grin, spurring his horse and riding away in haste.
Mogo, watching the old man disappear into the distance, called out after him:
"Tell the slave that when he earns his forgiveness, I will offer him a chance to free himself from his status as a slave."
The hazy moonlight wove a gossamer glow over the land, and the stars seemed particularly numerous and brilliant that night.
The moon and stars cast their light on the distant highlands by the Dark Stream River.
After the battle, Mogo fully grasped the wisdom of keeping camp away from the river, despite its difficulty with water, and occupying the higher ground.
"Kaoh, we've caught a caravan attempting to approach the camp. They carry a large chest of gold, and the caravan leader claims to be an envoy sent by the city of Kohor."
Outside the tent, a group of Dothraki Roaring Warriors led a middle-aged man with a goatish beard and a lean frame by rope.
However, there was an unusual sharpness in the man's calm and bright gaze. "Kohorans?" Mogo furrowed his brows, skeptical of the man's identity. "As far as I know, Kohor has gathered its markets from the outskirts, closed its gates, and forbidden anyone from leaving. How could they send an envoy to offer me tribute in gold?"
The man with the goatish beard remained composed, stepping half a pace toward the light, his bound hands raised to the fire to show he meant no harm. In a hoarse yet elegant and gentle voice, he spoke:
"Honorable Mogo Kaoh, I am the masked priest of the Black Goat God, Morey Hett. I was sent by the faithful of Kohor to offer tribute to the victor."
Orf, who was about to act as translator, was stunned.
Morey Hett's mastery of the Dothraki tongue was impeccable, which explained why the Roaring Warriors had only brought him alone into the tent.
The harsh and guttural Dothraki language, when spoken by him, had a tone of gentleness and tranquility.
Orf quickly regained his composure, slightly turning to Mogo and explaining in a whisper:
"The Black Goat God is the deity of Kohor. Every day, sacrifices of cattle, castrated bulls, and horses are made at his altar. On sacred days, masked priests use knives to offer the lives of criminals to the god. In times of crisis, the nobles of the city even sacrifice their children, hoping that the Black Goat will protect the city."
The explanation, though objective, seemed to anger the masked priest, Morey Hett.
However, Orf glanced at the priest, and deliberately raised his voice:
"I've heard that the Faceless Ones consider the Black Goat God to be one of the manifestations of the God of a Thousand Faces, in the House of Black and White..."
"Ah, shut up, shut up, heretic!"
At that moment, Morey Hett's calm and composed facade cracked, his face contorted with rage, his elegant demeanor now gone, replaced by near madness.
The name "Faceless Ones" caused a shiver to run through Mogo. His urgency to acquire the Twelve Trials of the Relics was rooted in his belief that life itself was fragile. There were few who could threaten his life now, and the Faceless Ones were one of those few.
The Faceless Ones were an order of religious assassins who worshipped the God of a Thousand Faces, the God of Death. They were based in the Free City of Braavos, in the House of Black and White, and were experts in disguise, able to change their appearance at will. They also wielded a deadly poison known as the "Strangler," capable of killing a person in moments by suffocation.
Mogo understood Orf's intentions, for the sudden appearance of Morey Hett certainly raised suspicions.
Kohor had been slow to pay tribute to Jomokao, and now, after the battle, with the situation unclear, they suddenly wished to offer him gold—this was highly unusual.
Yet, Mogo also felt that it was unlikely that Kohor could have so quickly hired a Faceless One, nor would they be willing to pay the high price to have a Faceless One assassinate a Dothraki Kaoh.
A Faceless One's price for taking a life, which was seen as an offering to their god, was typically very high, and would vary depending on the target's importance and the level of protection surrounding them. Assassinating an ordinary merchant could be done for half the price, which would be enough to hire a whole group of mercenaries.
Perhaps Orf only wanted to test Morey Hett's identity by using the faith of the Black Goat God, but the mention of the God of a Thousand Faces inadvertently triggered Mogo's wariness toward the Faceless Ones. After all, even beneath the weight of their fame, one had to be cautious.