[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]

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Third Person POV

North, 281 AC.

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4 kilometers away from Vaes Dothraki, two armies gathered, facing each other. Both advanced until they found a suitable place for the confrontation. The entire area around them was filled with small groups of warriors organizing themselves to fight against the enemy.

On one side, the Articans were ready for battle with 80,000 men. Among them, nearly 40,000 were Articans, 30,000 were Dothraki who had allied with Jon, and another 10,000 were former slaves who had decided to fight. Some wanted to prove their worth, while others sought revenge for the attacks that had destroyed their villages and torn their families apart.

There was a latent problem between the former slaves and the Dothraki, but the Artican commanders managed to calm the tension. They ordered the slaves to leave their hatred and thirst for vengeance for the battlefield against the other Dothraki, ensuring that if they fought, they would receive land and homes in Artica. However, to achieve that, they needed to prove their worth.

Meanwhile, on the other side, their enemies were more numerous, totaling 120,000 warriors ready to fight against the Articans. There were many reasons for other small khalasares to join Khal Drogo, but they all had a common goal: to support Khal Drogo. As for Jon, his goal was finally within reach as he entered these lands—to exterminate Khal Drogo once and for all. He wanted to leave his mark so that no one would ever dare challenge him again in this part of the world.

Moreover, if he won this war, all the Free Cities that traded with Jon would learn to fear Artica. He had already demonstrated his strength by defeating other Dothraki, and now he would reinforce his reputation so that no one would dare try anything against Artica, whether financially or militarily.

The sound of footsteps against the ground continued as one of the royal guards approached the Artican king on his side.

“My king, the flanks are all ready for battle.” he said.

Jon was on a hill, mounted on Ghost, wearing full armor, watching the enemies organize in the distance. Behind him, his army was finishing their preparations. Giants, dwarves, and Artican warriors stood side by side with the Dothraki and now-free men who had allied with him, all strategically positioning themselves as ordered by the leaders.

The Articans had organized the Dothraki into military formations so they would hold the battle line, something unusual for them since they were used to fighting in a chaotic and brutal manner. Even without formal training, the Artican commanders ensured that the Dothraki held their positions and resisted their natural urge to simply charge forward.

This discipline was Jon’s advantage. His army had already been tested in battles. Even though this was their first great war, they had been hardened by previous conflicts, reinforcing all the training they had undergone in Artica for years. When they returned to Artica, they would be even more powerful and ready for any other enemy who dared threaten their lands. They were there to fight to honor their fallen comrades, their people, and their gods.

Jon nodded to his guard.

“Great. Let’s wait until all the central forces in the area are ready.” he said.

His royal guards began reorganizing what still needed adjustments. Carts full of arrows moved through the crowd and advanced directly to the giants at the front of the army. Along with other supplies, they were being distributed among the soldiers. Since this would be Artica’s first strategic move against an army 50% larger than theirs, keeping supplies stocked was essential, especially with thousands of arrows.

Additionally, almost the entire army was mounted on horseback. This battle would see thousands of them clashing against each other, as the other side was also entirely mounted. This fight would result in many losses, both of men and animals, turning the battlefield into a sea of the dead—more than any other before. But there was nothing to be done about it except to win as quickly as possible.

“My King, all the Artican commanders are prepared along with their assistants. The animals have already been placed in the sky.”

Another Artican soldier came to inform him of another situation regarding the army.

“Hold position.” Jon spoke while looking at the sky filled with birds, both above him and above the enemy. It seemed strange to those who did not know the powers of Artica. They did not find it unusual to see so many birds flying over the bodies—after all, vultures would always be there—but seeing so many other birds alongside the vultures was something uncommon. There were hundreds of crows, eagles, and other birds flying with the black scavengers, all waiting for a great feast at the end of the battle.

One could even see the other birds attacking the vultures to keep them from getting too close.

Jon turned his attention back to the man and told him to return to his position before he was called for the final strategic meeting. The man nodded and left.

Then, Jon turned to his wife, who stood beside him, fully armed in her armor and wielding her Valyrian steel hammer. She looked at him from inside her helmet.

“Don’t leave my side, understand?” Jon said.

Seryna let out a smile that he couldn’t see inside her helmet. “You don’t even need to say that. After all, someone has to protect you, right?” she replied.

Jon smiled slightly, then took his helmet from his lap and secured it beside Ghost’s armor, where a clasp held it in place, while he observed the final preparations of the army for the battle that would begin in the next twenty minutes.

“Summon all the commanders. Let’s head to the tent for one last meeting.” Jon ordered one of the royal guards, who immediately left to call those summoned by the king.

He needed to strategize until the last moment, as he could analyze the enemy’s behavior and study the terrain. Now that his army was fully prepared, he could manipulate it easily through his commanders, each responsible for 500 men—nearly 80 commanders in total, all helping him to reorganize the entire army.

Thus, he left with Seryna and his royal guards, advancing toward the command tent set up for them in the middle of the army. All the position leaders were summoned, filling the space, but without chaos, as they were disciplined enough to express their opinions rationally to one another.

Meanwhile, on the other side, the Dothraki curiously observed the sky full of birds. They noticed that, besides the vultures, other birds were flying, as if they were spying on everything happening among their warriors.

Unlike Jon, Khal Drogo did not have an elaborate strategy. He did what he had always done: gather his army, ride to the enemy, and exterminate them. He relied on his numerical advantage and believed that would be enough not only to win but to crush any resistance.

Even so, he had to admit that the Articans were brave for still being there, willing to face him. But Drogo did not care about facing men in metal clothing or even four-meter-tall men. He would face the foreign king’s army, kill Jon, and then take his promised bride back.

One of his warriors approached, bringing more men with him. Among them, mounted on a horse and clearly terrified, was a specific man.

“Good. Do not let him drop that sword.” Khal Drogo ordered.

Viserys Targaryen trembled. He had been forced onto the horse, and the Dothraki had placed a sword in his hand, forcing him to hold it.

He would be one of the first to ride against the Articans, which filled him with sheer terror. Facing the immense enemy army, he felt despair consuming him. He had never been in a real battle before, and the terror was evident in his eyes.

But there was no choice. Either he charged into war, or he would die right there, at the hands of the Dothraki.

It was not just the two armies present. Many people began appearing in the distance, coming from various sides of the Dothraki Sea. Everyone wanted to witness the unfolding of this battle.

From afar, the two groups looked like mere ants, yet they occupied a vast area.

Even the Great Elder was present, accompanied by several Dosh Khaleen who had come to witness the long-awaited confrontation. Some of them were there to confirm whether the prophecy was true—if they would indeed see the foreigner defeat the greatest Khal of the Dothraki desert.

The Dothraki were finally ready for battle, while the Articans emerged with their horses running through the ranks of soldiers. They held their positions, and the commanders moved to their posts.

Jon rode alongside his great wolf, a spear in hand, with his main group, returning to the same hill as before. As he passed through the soldiers, eyes turned toward him. They saw in their king the one who would lead them to victory. The confidence in the air was palpable.

Upon reaching his initial position, Jon cast one last glance over his army. Everything was ready. On the other side, the Dothraki also seemed prepared to advance.

They were approximately a kilometer apart. Jon could clearly see Khal Drogo at the front of the enemy army with his beasts in the sky.

He then turned around, looking at his men. With a single gesture, he raised his sword, Blackfyre. The sun reflected on the Valyrian steel blade, turning it into a true beacon in the bright daylight. The light shone intensely, drawing everyone’s attention.

Then, Jon shouted.

“Artica, what are we?”

His voice echoed across the desert, amplified by his magic. Even the Dothraki could hear him clearly, though Jon was not speaking their language but the ancient tongue of the Articans. All his Artican warriors knew exactly what he meant, while the Dothraki and the former slaves were confused but astonished by the power of the Artican king’s voice.

“WE ARE NORTHMEN!” responded the army of over 37,000 in unison, striking their shields with force.

The Dothraki and the slaves looked on in surprise. They had never seen such behavior before. Jon was raising the morale of his people, preparing them for the most important battle of their journey.

“Artica, what are we?” Jon insisted, his voice booming like thunder across the arid land.

“WE ARE DESCENDANTS OF THE FIRST MEN!” his warriors roared, pounding their shields once again, the sound reverberating across the battlefield.

“Artica, what are we?” Jon exclaimed for the third time.

“WE ARE THE MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE!” The response came, strong and unyielding, as if it were an undeniable truth.

“Artica, what do we fear?” Then, Jon asked one last question.

“WE FEAR NOTHING BUT THE WRATH OF OUR GODS!” The roar of his army filled the desert.

“Artica, what will we do to our enemy? What will we do to the Dothraki who dare to challenge Artica?” Jon asked, his voice echoing across the battlefield for the fifth time.

At that moment, a rumble came from the other side as the enemy made their move. The Dothraki no longer seemed willing to wait. In an instant, they charged across the desert with fury, kicking up dust and making the ground tremble under the hooves of thousands of horses.

But Jon did not waver. He remained firm, looking directly at as many of his warriors as he could, searching for any sign of hesitation. After all, hesitation was not worthy of an Artican.

“WE DO NOT RUN! WE KILL THEM! WE EXTERMINATE THEM! IT IS THEY WHO WILL FEAR US UNTIL THE END OF THIS DAY!” His men answered his question with a deafening roar, accompanied by the resounding clash of shields.

Jon nodded in satisfaction. His army’s morale was fully restored. He then turned his attention to the Dothraki charging at full speed. The ground trembled beneath their horses, but the Articans remained unmoved, awaiting their king’s order.

Jon raised his sword and now focused entirely on the enemies. “Do you know what I see before me?”

He scanned the battlefield, watching the enemy army approach like a destructive wave.

“I see a great number of corpses that will fall to the ground. I see their souls leaving this world and returning to their gods, whoever they may be. But I know our men will not fall! And if anyone does, the Old Gods will embrace them, and Artica will remember them as mighty warriors! We will never forget them.”

A moment of silence took over the army as Jon’s words sank in. Then, he raised his sword even higher and proclaimed.

“On this day, we will not forget them! But believe me, we will commit such a massacre that our name will be remembered in these lands with terror and fear! We will become legends, eternal in the minds of these people and those who witness us on this day!”

The soldiers struck their shields in response, ready for war. But Jon was not finished yet.

“Do you know what else I see?” Jon continued, his voice firm and full of conviction.

“I see, two moons from now, myself at home, with my children and my wives, remembering this day! The day we massacred all the Dothraki, suffering minimal losses! I see every Artican who returns home mocking those who once dared to think they could be our enemies!”

Jon then pointed his sword directly at the approaching Dothraki and roared. “But in the end, Artica has no enemies. Do you know why?”

He paused for a moment, letting his men grow eager for the answer.

“Because we exterminate them all! Whether here and now or in a few years… they will all fall. And I see that these enemies will not survive this day! So, get ready! Hold your positions, and let’s start the massacre! Begin the attack with the giants’ bows!”

Jon shouted with all his might, and his army roared back one last time before the battle began.

The soldiers struck their shields once more in perfect synchronization. Even those who did not understand the Artican language followed the rhythm, as the energy in the air was undeniable.

At the same time, the commanders of the giants swiftly acted upon their king’s order.

The giants took their positions, and 5,000 giant archers were already prepared, their arrows mounted and aimed.

Before the enemy could even reach them, the massacre would begin.

The giants in the front line, with their enormous bows, moved in perfect harmony. Each one grabbed an arrow and placed it on the string of their Weirwood-crafted bows. All 5,000 giants raised their weapons toward the sky at the same moment. The thunderous sound of the strings being drawn echoed across the battlefield—a warning of the imminent attack.

“Fire!!!” The commanders gave the order.

Then, a collective boom filled the air.

Five thousand giants released their arrows simultaneously.

The Dothraki were 600 meters away when they suddenly looked up, their eyes widening in shock as they saw the sky darken with projectiles. For a brief moment, the sun was obscured by the swarm of arrows before they began to fall.

Khal Drogo had his first surprise.

He saw the arrows descending like a deadly storm, piercing dozens of his warriors in the midst of their charge. The projectiles tore through men and horses alike, sending them tumbling to the ground with screams of agony and despair. The sounds of wounded animals and bodies hitting the earth filled the battlefield.

Before Drogo could react, another thunderous sound erupted.

More arrows sliced through the air at incredible speed, and within seconds, a second wave of projectiles rained down on his army. The impact was so brutal that the Dothraki charge began to falter.

As the arrows flew, the commanders of the giants continued issuing orders.

“Prepare!” one of the leaders roared.

The giants, without hesitation, grabbed new arrows and placed them on their bowstrings, pulling them back with supernatural strength.

“Aim and fire!” he commanded, and another dozen horses and warriors fell, kicking up dust on the battlefield.

Another thunderous shot rang out.

“W-what is this?” a Dothraki murmured near the Elder of the Dosh Khaleen, swallowing hard as he witnessed the carnage unfolding before his eyes, along with the rest of the group.

The arrows flew over absurd distances, massacring thousands of men with each volley. The speed of the enemy charge was drastically reduced, as the warriors hesitated to advance, and the horses panicked at the sight of their kin collapsing like they were nothing.

Chaos spread among the Dothraki. Many attempted to maneuver around the field littered with bodies and dead horses, but their formation had already been broken.

“Left flank, turn 30 degrees! Right flank, turn 30 degrees as well!” the commanders of the giants ordered.

Immediately, the sub-leaders began reorganizing the troops. Half of the giants—2,500 of them—turned to one side, while the other 2,500 positioned themselves on the opposite side.

The enemy tried to escape the kill zone, but the giants were ready to continue the slaughter.

Another volley of arrows soared through the sky, and even those who had tried to maneuver into safer positions were struck down.

“My king, at this rate, there won’t be a single man left to taste my blade.” One of Jon’s royal guards murmured beside him as he observed the scene.

He wasn’t wrong.

The Dothraki were being slaughtered before they could even get close to the Artican army. Jon had never revealed that his giants could shoot from such a distance, so no one truly knew. The only known reports claimed that giants could shoot at men from 300 meters away. Twice that distance was information no Dothraki had, and Jon had wanted to catch them by surprise to even out their numbers—and he had succeeded.

“45,000…” Jon murmured.

At least fifteen volleys of arrows had already been fired. The giants were so fast that they loosed their arrows one after another, never giving the Dothraki time to reorganize. The enemy had yet to reach 400 meters, forced to drastically slow their charge.

The enemy army, which had started with 120,000 warriors, had now been reduced to 75,000 in less than five minutes.

Each volley meant 5,000 arrows in the air. In total, over 75,000 projectiles had been fired, and more than half had found their mark.

But despite the carnage, the Dothraki continued to advance. Retreat was no longer an option for them, though the confidence they had before was gone from their faces. They had to ride through the fallen, stepping over bodies of their kin and their horses. Some tripped over the dead, tumbling from their mounts, only to be crushed beneath the hooves of their own warriors.

Jon watched the scene for a moment before speaking.

“Well… It looks like it’s time for us to act.”

At last, he placed his helmet on his head, adjusting it as he urged Ghost forward with a simple mental command. The massive wolf required no gestures or words. He understood his master.

His men quickly followed, while the giants continued firing, cutting down even more enemy warriors.

At the same time, Jon began reorganizing his formation. Part of his army began a slight withdrawal, preparing for the inevitable clash.

There were still about 60,000 Dothraki charging toward them.

“Do you see what I see?” Jon called out, unconcerned about the enemies still rushing toward them in desperation.

The faces of the Dothraki were filled with terror as they rode forward, seeing the great wolf standing at the forefront of the enemy forces.

On the other hand, the Articans watched with mocking smiles. They were eager. Their morale was at its peak.

Jon raised his sword and shouted once more.

“They are barely more than half of what they were at the start… and they haven’t even reached us yet. Now that they’ve had a taste of what we can do, let’s end their suffering! Follow me, for together, we will show them what we are capable of!”

With a swift motion, he turned his enormous wolf, and all his men readied themselves.

“With me!!! For Artica!!!” Jon commanded.

Ghost lunged forward with a ferocious roar, and his army answered the call.

War cries echoed across the battlefield. The royal guards and over 75,000 Articans surged forward behind their king, leaving only the giants behind, who remained firing their relentless volleys of arrows.

The charge was a true wall of steel.

Quickly, the Artican warriors began galloping in unison, forming a wave of iron that swept across the desert, their formation shaped like the tip of a spear to pierce the enemy’s charge. Jon led the way, his imposing presence inspiring every soldier behind him to follow their king.

On the other side, the Dothraki finally saw their chance to prove their worth. They increased their speed, roaring as they charged toward their enemies.

But Jon only watched, unmoved.

He knew exactly what was about to happen.

Ghost charged like a deadly predator, ready to tear its prey apart. Jon’s eyes began to glow with an intense, frightening light.

It was time to show the Dothraki desert why all should fear them.

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Raccoon Here: I think I’ll write Viserys’ perspective next. After all, he’s going to die in this battle—it would be interesting to show his despair as he struggles to survive until the middle of the fight, witnessing the chaos unfold all around him.

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 247 – Queen Daenerys of Arctic.

Chapter 252 – Free Folk vs Dead Army 01.

Chapter 262 – Events in Arctic.

Chapter 271 – Val.

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