The Undead Horde Of The Great Grass Sea (GOT)

The Challenge Set

The stage was chaos, the battle inevitable. I wasn't about to give them a moment to regroup. Striding toward Motho, I grabbed the old khal's arm and pulled him close.

"Move your camp east. Keep your warriors awake and ready to fight," I whispered.

As Motho nodded, I turned my attention to one of Ogo's remaining kos. "Follow him. Protect his flanks."

The old khal departed, his warriors already gathering to march. I watched him go, then turned to see Drogo at a distance, his arakh half-drawn. When our eyes met, I saw hesitation flicker in his gaze. He knew he was far from his khalasar and vulnerable. Fighting me here wasn't an option—not without the strength of his numbers.

With a scowl, Drogo mounted his horse and rode back to his camp.

"Run, Drogo," I muttered, smirking. Watching my prey flee was always a satisfying sight.

Turning to my bloodriders, I barked my orders. "Doromon, Kota, ready the chase. Leave the women and slaves—lock them in the city. Bring the silver-haired boy; he rides with us."

Grabbing Dullahan's reins, I vaulted onto my horse. As I passed Ogo's headless corpse, my gaze fell on his discarded spear. "Bring me that."

A Dothraki boy rushed forward, retrieving the spear and placing it in my outstretched hand.

Midnight

The night sky stretched wide and clear, the stars bright against the endless black. Drogo's camp moved west, trying to put distance between us. He had recruited the other two khals, and his coalition rode with him—over 50,000 strong. But they rode in the dark, and Drogo knew this was not his preferred ground for battle.

As the hours passed, one of his rear riders galloped forward, shouting, "Attack! We're under attack!"

Panic spread through his khalasar as Drogo shouted commands. "Ride hard! Fight where you can!"

Despite his orders, chaos broke out. Jommo's flank began to falter. Horses stumbled, their riders falling and tangling into piles of bodies. Drogo's shouts were lost in the screams and the sound of steel meeting flesh.

MC's POV

I watched the chaos unfold, a hunter stalking his prey. Ogo's former khalasar was driving Drogo's riders to exhaustion. Hour after hour, we rotated the pursuit, forcing them to tire faster.

Motho rode beside me, his weathered face set in grim determination. "Harder, old man," I said with a grin, spurring Dullahan forward.

When a group tried to break away, I led my riders to intercept. The first man I encountered in the darkness was Khal Jommo himself. Laughing to myself, I leaned low in my saddle, my long sword flashing as I swung. His head flew clean off his shoulders.

As Jommo's body fell, I steered Dullahan sharply, aiming for the horses. My blade sliced through a beast's leg, sending it crashing down and creating a chain reaction of tumbling mounts and riders.

The chaos spread like wildfire. I whistled sharply, signaling my riders to unleash a hail of arrows. The screams of Drogo's men echoed through the night as their ranks were decimated.

By the time the horizon began to lighten, the chase was nearing its end. My horde had slaughtered tens of thousands. Dullahan was tiring beneath me, and I knew my riders were near their limit. Still, I roared, "Your brothers die for this chase—don't let their sacrifice be in vain!"

My riders answered with a bloodthirsty scream, surging forward with renewed ferocity.

As the sun rose, Drogo's khalasar was in shambles. Over 40,000 of his coalition lay dead, their bodies scattered across the grass sea. Only a river stopped his retreat. Trapped, Drogo and his remaining men turned to face us.

The Final Stand

I dismounted, grabbing the spear I had taken from Ogo. Pointing it at Drogo, I called out, "Your men lie scattered through the grass sea. Let us finish this here. Come, Drogo—die like a man."

Drogo stood amidst his last warriors, his jaw clenched. He knew he had no choice. With a guttural war cry, his men charged my waiting army.

"Idiots," I muttered, watching my riders crash into theirs.

I mounted Dullahan once more, cutting through the melee in search of Drogo. I caught glimpses of battle all around—Viserys fighting alongside my bloodriders, his strikes clumsy but determined. One of my kos lost his head, but not without leaving a wound on his killer.

Finally, I saw him—Drogo, locked in combat with Bejan and Braga. The silver-haired boy swung his arakh at Drogo's back, only to be thrown from his horse. Drogo turned, spear raised, ready to deliver the killing blow.

Viserys POV

I had never fought like this, never ridden so hard or faced a man as terrifying as Drogo. My strikes barely connected, and my horse buckled beneath me. As I lay pinned, my heart pounded in terror.

Then, out of nowhere, I heard it—a roar like thunder.

MC's POV

I charged Drogo, the spear in my hand driving straight into his shoulder. It snapped under the force, sending him tumbling from his horse. Tossing the broken weapon aside, I leapt from Dullahan, drawing both my arakh and long sword.

Drogo was already on his feet, swinging his two-handed arakh in a wide arc. I ducked, striking low with my blade, but he sidestepped. His counterattack was brutal—a shoulder slam that sent me stumbling back.

Rolling to my feet, I didn't hesitate. I hurled my long sword like a spear, lodging it deep in his forearm. He recoiled, blood pouring from the wound.

Bejan, bloodied but unbroken, appeared behind him. With a wild laugh, he drove the jagged bone of his severed arm into Drogo's neck. The moment was all I needed.

With a roar, I struck, my arakh slashing through Drogo's hand. My final blow cut deep into his chest, and the great Khal Drogo fell.

As his body hit the ground, silence fell over the battlefield. Then, from the distance, a single voice cried out, "The Khal is dead!" as i here the announcement I saw Bejan helping his brother, who was almost crushed by his horse. The two of them hobbled over to assist Viserys, who was trapped beneath his fallen mount. As they dragged the boy out, it became clear that, while he was alive, he wouldn't be walking anytime soon. Observing his injuries, I couldn't help but think: If this little shit survives, I might just have to give him a continent. Anyone who can trade blows with Drogo deserves the chance.