Chapter 150: Winter Is Coming

Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness.

~ George R.R. Martin

_____

Or rather.

It wasn’t a change in faith, but rather that she regarded Hillel as an emissary of the old gods.

Or perhaps a proxy of the gods in the mortal realm.

"Great old gods! You truly heard my prayer and responded to my call! What can I do for you?"

"Emmm... Forget it, it’s nothing more than a codename!"

Hillel couldn’t be bothered to correct her; old gods or new gods, no one cared about such details.

"There is much I need you to do. In the future, the North will be swept into a war. Your husband is a political idiot, your children are worldly-naive, and your entire family was supposed to die in blood and fire!"

"But I have changed all this. The ravens of Death have been driven away, but ominous portents will eventually descend. Winter Is Coming!"

"Do you... understand?"

Hillel lowered his head and questioned.

Catelyn’s body trembled. "I... I know!"

Winter Is Coming was the house words of House Stark, a phrase accompanied by the legends of northern bad omens—namely, the legend of the White Walkers marching south.

Every member of the Stark family would never forget it.

But because too much time had passed, the northerners had long forgotten the metaphor behind the story.

They treated the White Walkers as a joke to scare children.

But when these words were spoken from the mouth of a god, Catelyn felt as though the blood vessels throughout her body were freezing over.

"Indeed, Winter Is Coming! Your husband cannot keep fighting wars in the south. Go write a letter to him and tell him that the god you worship requires him to muster the armies of the entire realm and submit unconditionally!"

"I do not wish to see any acts of defiance, otherwise, I will take back the legs I granted to Bran!"

As his voice fell, Hillel’s god-like figure vanished from the room.

"Mother, he’s gone!"

Catelyn remained kneeling prostrate on the ground until Bran reminded her, causing her to snap back to her senses.

...

Across the Narrow Sea.

Hillel going back and forth actually hadn’t taken much effort.

All things considered, it was barely an hour.

However, within this short hour, that Khal of the Dothraki sea had already arrived with his retinue at the mansion of Illyrio the magister.

Khal Drogo, legendary as the finest warrior king of the Dothraki sea, fought better on horseback than standing on the ground.

At this moment.

This king sat squarely in the reception room, his hawk-like eyes scanning Daenerys without the slightest concealment.

White hair, purple eyes, skin as fair as milk, and extremely regular features.

Though Drogo said nothing, he had already taken a fancy to the mare Illyrio had prepared for him.

A moment later.

Drogo suddenly stood up, said not a word, and turned to leave with his followers.

Viserys instantly panicked.

He grabbed Illyrio, asking anxiously, "Why did he leave? Has he taken a fancy to Daenerys or not?"

Illyrio flashed a meaningful smile.

"Your Highness, rest assured! If Khal Drogo had not taken a fancy to your sister, he would have made it known!"

"That’s great!"

Viserys breathed a sigh of relief.

...

Outside the city of Pentos, the camp of the Dothraki host.

Thousands of fierce grassland cavalrymen were waiting for their Khal to return.

Drogo vaulted onto his horse, speaking in low tones in Dothraki with several bloodriders by his side.

Hillel couldn’t understand a single word.

However, this did not hinder him from getting things done.

With a flash, he appeared out of thin air at the very front of this army, blocking their path with the power of one man.

The army of thousands came to an abrupt halt.

Those arrogant prairie cavalrymen had never seen anyone dare to be so bold as to block the path before the Khal’s horse.

One of Drogo’s subordinates immediately spurred his horse forward, raised the long whip in his hand, and lashed fiercely at Hillel, shouting all the while as if cursing in Dothraki.

Before that whip could strike Hillel,

Hillel backhanded him with a single slap.

That cavalryman, horse and rider together, was sent spinning three hundred and sixty degrees through the air by this slap, crashing into the distant grass where he breathed his last on the spot.

"Oh, I forgot to withdraw the Bio-field!"

Hillel had originally intended to slap the opponent into pieces, but accidentally left a whole corpse.

The effect of deterrence wasn’t achieved!

The entire opposing army stirred in commotion.

Hillel’s Carnage began right then and there.

He didn’t use too much power; with his strength, a full-powered punch could knock this Planet back to its primitive state, and a few punches would cause this World to collapse!

So he had to hold back his strength.

Hillel transformed into a blur of afterimages invisible to mortal eyes, weaving through the army of thousands.

Cosplaying a bit like Homelander!

He grabbed the horse king’s ankle and casually flung him, smashing the king of the prairie into the ground and instantly refining him into a pool of minced meat.

Hillel glanced at the foot in his hand and gave his wrist a slight flick; that foot shot forward, piercing continuously through an entire row of Dothraki cavalrymen.

Hillel’s figure flickered erratically amidst the crowd.

Every time he appeared, a cavalryman, horse and rider alike, was blasted into smithereens, blood and severed limbs splashing across the grassland.

The proud warriors of the plains were as fragile as straw before him.

Thousands of arrows rained down like a blanket.

Yet Hillel spread his arms wide, letting the arrowheads strike his steel physique without even feeling a single prick.

The prairie cavalrymen wielded arakhs, but he grabbed them directly, twisted them into a ball of iron, and threw them out like a baseball.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Viltrum Chop!

Flying Kick!

Neck Snap!

This was no battle.

This was a bloody Carnage.

Fear spread like a plague, yet Hillel felt not a shred of pity. The Dothraki cavalrymen were notorious across the plains, to say nothing of their reputation among the other Free Cities.

In just a brief moment.

The green grassland was dyed in a glaring, blinding scarlet.

Years later, this place would be named the Land of Blood Fall.

But for now.

Under Hillel’s Carnage, half of the thousands-strong Dothraki army vanished in the blink of an eye.

Only then did Hillel stop his hands.

The remaining half of the cavalrymen were scared out of their wits by the hellish scene.

Corpses piled up like mountains all around.

Yet the opponent did not have a single trace of blood on him; standing there nonchalantly, he was more terrifying than any ghost.

No one dared to resist.

"Thump, thump..."

They whipped their horses to flee, and for every one who ran, Hillel incinerated them with Heat Vision.

The true showboating aspect of the Omega Vision was right here; he didn’t even need to move as the Heat Vision bent automatically. Combined with bio-sensing, it could accurately hit anyone, reaching the absolute pinnacle of showing off.

The surviving Dothraki could only drop to their knees, not daring to flee, trembling like chaff in the wind.

Where was there any trace of the swaggering and fierce aura they had before?

Hillel looked around with satisfaction.

Just as he was about to speak, he suddenly remembered that he didn’t seem to know a single word of Dothraki.

Sss!!

"Dear System! Is there a language patch? Give me one, otherwise how am I supposed to communicate with these people?"

[Demand detected, loading the World language pack for the host...]

[Loaded: Common Tongue, Valyrian (High and Low), Dothraki, Ghiscari, Summer Islander, various Free Cities dialects, Old Tongue of the First Men...]

[Language pack loading complete]

In an instant, countless unfamiliar syllables, grammar rules, and vocabularies flooded into Hillel’s mind, instantly digested by him.

Damn it!

If I had something as convenient as you back in the day, why would I have bothered memorising chicken feathers like ’abandon’!

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