The grasslands trembled underfoot.
Zheko Khal's followers mounted their horses, eyes fixed intently on the eastern hills.
Möngke rode a fiery red steed, crossing the hill first. Hooves pounded, mane streaming in the wind, accompanied by the thunderous roar of warhorses. From the hill surged a wave of Dothraki cavalry, dark and unstoppable.
This Kass looked no different from other Dothraki—wild, fierce, untamed, roaring in sharp cries that echoed like the calls of beasts or warnings to enemies. Their gaze appraised opponents as if they were prey, yet occasionally, a look toward Möngke's Ko was full of fervent admiration.
They galloped to within a hundred paces of the camp, reining in their horses, halting with flawless horsemanship.
At the camp, Zheko Khal remained composed, mounting the warhorse held by his Bloodriders. Möngke's Kass had not yet entered the meadow, but the tribe's scouts had already spotted them.
The Dothraki were rough and brutal, yet their military skills were far from primitive. When a tribe moved, scouts would search for prey and enemies. Roaring warriors guarded the flanks, and another Kass protected the rear.
Dothraki never pillaged during combat. After battles, warriors called Jhakaran would decapitate the fallen with massive axes, while young girls collected arrows from the corpses for reuse.
Beneath the vast, endless sky, the sunset painted the clouds crimson. Stars became fiery steeds, welcoming the souls of fallen warriors.
Möngke faced east, bathed in the glow of the dying sun, opposing Zheko Khal and his Bloodriders. The light of sun and stars stretched the shadows of men across the grasslands.
The Bloodriders intended to charge first, to slay the challenger, but Zheko Khal raised a hand to stop them.
He drew his Arakh from the saddle. His fierce eyes flashed with a deadly light, and his voice, deep and thunderous, erupted from his chest:
"Möngke Ko, I will let them burn your corpse, giving you the honor you deserve."
"Khal," Möngke replied, suppressing his remaining guilt, focusing intently, "a Khal who feels fear is no longer a true Khal."
"Now I will leave your body on the red plains, the rain washing over your rotting flesh, until nothing remains but bones."
With that, Zheko Khal clutched the horse's belly with his legs, drew strength, raised his Arakh, and charged relentlessly.
All fear of Horse King Zorgo transformed into fury and defiance. His blood boiled in his chest.
Squinting against the sunset, Möngke studied Zheko Khal's stance carefully. With his power, he could easily crush his opponent—but there was a reason he must act this way.
Sixty paces. At the next moment, he spurred his fiery steed, an arrow loosed from a bow, blazing forward.
The two horses passed in a flash. Zheko Khal's Arakh slashed, cutting an arc into Möngke, who leaned slightly back. The touch of the blade felt like striking solid rock.
It was as the legends foretold.
Before Zheko Khal could comprehend it, a tremendous force threw him from his horse. Möngke's weapon came into view—a mere branch.
A gush of blood erupted.
A wound appeared on Zheko's throat. He fell like a ragdoll onto the grass, blood streaming from his mouth. In his final thoughts, he realized:
The tribe's legends were true.
All the prophecies of the Doshi-Khalin—
His horse was swift as wind, his tribe stretched across the land, countless in number, his Arakh sharp as the reeds. He would be like a storm, his enemies trembling before him, their wives weeping bitterly. The bells in his braid sang of his arrival; the Milk Women in stone tents feared his name. The world would bow beneath his hooves.
The one I should have feared… was not Zheko Khal, but…
Alas, life offers no second chances.
Moments later, the final rays of sunlight fell on the blood-soaked meadow, stretching the shadow of the last man.
Amid the Dothraki cheers and roars, three more bodies fell beneath Möngke's hooves—the Bloodriders of Zheko.
According to ancient tradition, if a Khal dies in battle, the Bloodriders must first avenge him before following him to death.
Now, no one remembered Zheko Khal's death. The Dothraki followed only the strong. Tribes celebrated only the rise of a mightier Khal.
"Möngke Khal."
"Möngke Khal."
Facing the Kass behind him and the cheering followers, the remaining three Kos had no choice but to submit.
Only four deaths were needed to determine the Khal—a result Möngke found most satisfactory. As for Zheko's Khalago, dead or alive, it did not concern him.
He then commanded the herbal women and eunuchs to examine the bodies and prepared a funeral pyre.
Funerals were a sacred Dothraki custom, the final resting place of a warrior.
Only when the moon and stars cast their light across the grasslands did Möngke have time to enter his tent and open the mystical light screen visible only to him.
The light screen was merely a display. Möngke's true power lay in Artifact Fantasies.
Artifacts are creations of human imagination, their power and effectiveness determined by the legends surrounding them.
Möngke could conjure an artifact, create its story, and then live out the tale, ensuring others believed it, spreading it into myth. The more a tale is accepted, the stronger the artifact's effect.
On the screen, the artifact's name and power were displayed:
"No Knight Dies Barehanded"
Effect: Any weapon in hand can be mastered, its hardness like steel; if the weapon exceeds this, its original hardness remains.
Möngke had often fought with wet linen and wooden branches, toppling or killing enemies. Previously, his skill and strength were bronze-like. After slaying Zheko and his Bloodriders with a branch, his power increased.
Later, as the tribe expanded, he no longer needed to perform feats to demonstrate it.
"Reins of the Knight"
Effect: Man and horse become one; capable of commanding magical and mythological creatures.
The world contained dragons and other mythic beasts. At first, Möngke could only rely on instinct and strength to cling to his horse. Later, he greased a horse, wrapped himself in layers of soaked linen, lit fire upon the horse, and galloped across the plains.
Dothraki believed in the stars and the Horse God. Möngke, blessed by the celestial equine deities, could ride the legendary flaming steed.
"Twelve Trials"
Effect 1: Body strengthened, rock-hard, immune to all damage except fatal.
Effect 2: Resurrection storage: 0.
Effect 3: Resistance to known attacks.
The Twelve Trials were Möngke's foundation, granting unmatched physical prowess. His rock-hard body allowed him to lean back on horseback, evading Arakh strikes. Non-fatal hits would leave only scars.
Resistance to known attacks enabled him to dance in flames, bathe in boiling water, and resist most poisons.
The artifact's story declared Möngke was tested by the gods. Like Hercules of Greek myth, he completed twelve trials; each success brought more divine blessings, approaching immortality.
Hunting the white lion Heraka without harm was the first trial, activating the Twelve Trials' power, granting him the strength to crush Zheko.
Each completed trial increased his resurrection storage, requiring twelve deaths to end him permanently. With magic reviving in this world, the storage replenished over time.
The next trial: unify the Dothraki.