The vast plains trembled beneath the weight of impending conflict.
The warriors of Zheko Ka'o's tribe swiftly mounted their horses, their eyes fixed on the distant grass hills to the east.Monggo, riding a fiery red steed, was the first to crest the hill, his horse's hooves striking the earth with thunderous force, the long mane flowing wildly in the wind. Behind him followed a surge of cavalry, a black tide of warriors galloping forth with unrestrained might. The sight of Monggo's Kas was no different from any other Dothraki tribe—untamed, wild, and fierce. Their voices rose in sharp, piercing howls, as though driving beasts before them or intimidating enemies, their gazes fixated on their prey.Yet, every now and then, a glance toward Monggo revealed an unmistakable fervor, a burning zeal in their eyes.They thundered to within a hundred paces of the camp, reining in their horses with remarkable skill, halting with a precision that showcased their unparalleled horsemanship.In front of the camp, Zheko Ka'o remained unfazed, mounting his steed brought forth by his bloodsworn guard. Even before Monggo's Kas set foot on the plain, the tribe's scouts had already discovered their approach.The Dothraki, though barbaric and unruly, were far from lacking in military prowess. When on the move, scouts would always be dispatched ahead to trace the trail of prey and enemies alike. On either flank, a contingent of warriors, the Screaming Horsemen, would guard the tribe, while another Kas would bring up the rear.Furthermore, the Dothraki adhered to a strict code in battle. After a fight, the "Jakalang," wielders of massive axes, would sever the heads of the fallen and dying, while groups of young girls would collect arrows from the bodies for future use.The sky stretched endlessly above, painted with the fiery hues of the setting sun. The stars, those celestial steeds, would soon emerge, welcoming the souls of the fallen warriors into the heavens.Monggo, with his back to the east and his face bathed in the fading light, locked eyes with Zheko Ka'o and his bloodsworn guard. The light of the sun and stars stretched across the plain, elongating their shadows.The bloodsworn guard, eager to strike first and eliminate the challenger, was halted by Zheko Ka'o's outstretched hand.With a sharp motion, he drew his curved Arak sword from his saddle, his gaze fierce and cold, his voice a low rumble that echoed like thunder:"Monggo Ka'o, I will have them burn your corpse, and you shall receive the glory you deserve.""Ka'o," Monggo replied, his brief feelings of guilt now buried under a focused resolve, "A Ka'o who succumbs to fear is no true Ka'o.""Now, I shall leave your corpse to rot on the Red Wastes, where rain will fall upon your decaying flesh, until nothing remains but bones."With those words, Zheko Ka'o dug his heels into his steed's sides, gathering his strength as he raised his Arak sword high. He charged forward, his fury and frustration transforming into raw aggression.All the fear he had once held for the legendary horse lord, Khal Drogo, now crystallized into anger and defiance, the blood within him boiling once more.Monggo, squinting against the dying light of the sun, studied Zheko Ka'o's posture. In truth, Monggo possessed the strength to utterly crush him, but he had his reasons for allowing this confrontation to unfold as it did.At a distance of sixty paces, Monggo urged his fiery steed forward, the horse charging like an arrow loosed from a bow, flames in its wake.The two riders flew past one another. Zheko Ka'o's sword sliced through the air, its arc aimed at Monggo's slightly tilted form.The sensation of the blade's touch felt as if it had scraped against solid rock.In that moment, Monggo's body was driven by an overwhelming force, lifting him from his saddle. What met his eyes was a weapon that looked like a mere branch.With a sickening thud, blood splattered across the ground.Zheko Ka'o's throat was pierced by a bloody hole, his body crumpling to the earth like a rag doll.Blood poured from his mouth, and in his fading moments, a single thought flashed through his mind:The legends within the tribe were true.The many prophecies of the Seer Women—his steed swift as the wind, his tribe spreading across the earth, countless in number, his Arak sword sharp as reeds—he would become a storm of might, and his enemies would tremble before him. Their wives would weep, and the very name of his coming would send shivers down the spines of those dwelling in stone huts. The bells woven into his hair would sing his arrival, and all would bow before him.The one he should have feared, the one he should have avoided, was not Khal Drogo... but—Alas, life offers no second chances.Moments later, the last vestiges of sunlight bathed the blood-soaked plain, casting the final shadow of a fallen man.As the cheers and roars of the Dothraki filled the air, Monggo's steed trampled over the bodies of three more—Zheko's bloodsworn guards. According to ancient tradition, when a Ka'o falls in battle, his bloodsworn must avenge him before following him into death.No one would remember Zheko Ka'o's death. The Dothraki followed strength, and their only celebration was for the rise of a mightier Ka'o."Monggo Ka'o.""Monggo Ka'o."Faced with Monggo's watchful Kas and the jubilant tribe behind him, the remaining Khals of the other three Kas had no choice but to kneel in submission.The loss of only four men had been enough to decide who the new Ka'o would be, and Monggo was content with this outcome. As for Zheko Ka'o's son, whether he lived or died, Monggo cared not.Next, Monggo instructed the herbalist and the eunuchs to inspect the bodies, and commanded the tribe to build a pyre.The funeral pyre was a Dothraki custom, a final rite for the brave.It was not until the moon and stars cast their light upon the plains that Monggo retired to his tent, his mind focused as he summoned a shimmering screen that only he could see.This screen was but a form of display, a medium for his true power—Artifact Fantasy.An "artifact" is a weapon forged upon the framework of human imagination, its strength and efficacy determined by the legends attached to it.Monggo had the ability to manifest an artifact, creating an entire backstory for it, and then completing the events of that story to make others believe in it. The more the story spread and became myth, the greater the artifact's power would grow.With his mind focused, the screen displayed the name of his artifact and its corresponding strength:[The Knight Who Cannot Die by Hand]Effect: Any weapon placed in his hands becomes an extension of his will, mastering it with unmatched proficiency. The hardness of the weapon is as steel; if it surpasses this hardness, the weapon retains its original strength.Monggo had often used waterlogged linen and wooden branches in combat to defeat or kill opponents.At first, his mastery was only reflected in proficiency, with the hardness of the weapon akin to bronze. After slaying Zheko and his bloodsworn guards with a branch, the artifact's power had grown.In the future, as his tribe expanded, he would no longer need to perform these feats deliberately.[The Reins of the Gallant]Effect: Man and horse become one, allowing control over magical and mythological creatures.In this world, there were magical beasts such as dragons, and mythological creatures like sea monsters and griffins.When Monggo first arrived in this world, he could only rely on his Dothraki instincts and strength to stay mounted, not wanting to reveal his secret. But after he had oiled a steed and wrapped himself in soaked linen, riding through the night with the fire blazing at his back, he had felt the blessing of the Horse God and the Star Gods.Now, Monggo could command the legendary fire-steeds of the sky, as the Dothraki believed.[The Twelve Trials]Effect One: Physical enhancement—his body becomes as hard as rock, immune to all non-fatal damage, be it physical or magical.Effect Two: Physical regeneration, storage capacity: 0.Effect Three: Resistance to known attacks.The Twelve Trials were the foundation of Monggo's power, granting him an indomitable body.His body, now as tough as stone, allowed him to lean slightly back on his horse to avoid the strike of Zheko Ka'o's sword, and the remaining force simply left a scar without drawing a drop of blood.As long as the wound wasn't fatal, it would heal without bleeding. However, his body could not regenerate severed limbs.The story behind this artifact claimed Monggo had undergone twelve trials, much like the hero Heracles of ancient Greek mythology. With each trial completed, the gods granted him more blessings until he attained immortality.Hunting the white lion, Herakla, without harm, was the first trial. It was this trial that had activated the powers of the Twelve Trials, giving Monggo the strength to crush Zheko Ka'o.Afterward, with each trial he completed