The Death of the True Dragon

The Great Grass Sea of the Dothraki.

The sky was clear, and white clouds drifted lazily.

The grass swayed gently, rippling like a calm sea.

In the peaceful surroundings, the stench of burning began to drift through the air.

A village of sheep people.

"Kill them all! Take the women as slaves!"

"Hahaha..."

Flames consumed the houses. Cries and wails echoed throughout the village, mingling with the Dothraki horsemen's wild laughter.

In front of an open-air sheep pen, all the sheep had been driven away.

Dozens of fair-skinned sheep-woman were locked in the filthy pen, left to the Dothraki's abuse.

"No, let go of me!"

The women fought desperately, but their screams and tears only brought more brutal assaults.

"Baa, baa~~"

Flocks of sheep bleated in terror.

Watching the tragedies unfold, Aemon couldn't bear it. "Does it have to be this way?"

"It's the way of things. The khalasar needs supplies when it migrates."

The scar-faced Bloodsworn rode beside him, answering in a haughty tone.

As he spoke, he cast a casual glance over.

Aemon stood among the sheep. His silver-gold hair hung to his shoulders, a little dusty, and the panicked sheep jostled him from side to side.

Just like the abused sheep-women, he was a sacrificial lamb in the eyes of the Dothraki.

"They're innocent. Isn't killing all the men enough?"

Aemon looked up, trying to reason with him. "The khalasar has taken all their sheep and valuables. There's no need to wipe them out."

Even though this wasn't the first time he'd seen the Dothraki's brutality, he still couldn't accept it.

Neither Westeros Continent nor the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea had ever seen such wanton slaughter.

It was as though the khalasar couldn't prove its strength without committing every possible atrocity.

Crack!

A whip swept