Tomorbatar was once again on the road, riding toward the dreaded Hills of Death. Of the great clans, only five remained:The Serpent Wreath of Khaness Erkhbayar,The Wolfborn Horde of Khan Baatar Zuun,The Dune Widows of Matriarch Suren Zaya,
The Night Blades of Khan Köködei and The Stone Banners of Khan Tömörjin
Each had claimed one of the five hills, establishing camps at their peaks.
But unrest stirred among them. The Dune Widows were locked in fierce debate—some urging submission like their Matriarch Suren Zaya, while others refused to yield. The division split them. At last, Suren Zaya marched her loyal forces down from the Hills of Death, abandoning the others to their fate.
Not long after, Tomorbatar reached the plain—a place soaked in the blood of the fallen. Raising the decree high, he read aloud, and his voice echoed across the hills:
"By command of the Great Khan,
Dulgun, Guardian of the Silk Road,
shall wipe out the rebellious tribe of the Night Blades,
who have long defied the Khanate.
Let the other tribes bear witness."
Khan Köködei of the Night Blades threw his head back and laughed.
"Batu, you underestimate me! You send your little children to fight, thinking I'll fall easily? Don't worry—I won't disappoint you. By the end of this war, you'll have to dig two graves."
Fear crossed the face of Khaness Erkhbayar. She urged Dulgun not to fight. "You're too young," she pleaded. "Let others do this."
But Dulgun, bound by honor and the Khan's command, would not retreat. Her grandmother dropped to her knees, aching and worn from the long day of kneeling, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
"If you won't listen," the elder finally said, "then take my soldiers—and my poisons. You know our name for that."
Dulgun, a warrior born, looked her in the eye. "Grandmother, you've always wanted to be proud. Let me make you proud—my way."
Reassured but still fearful, Khaness Erkhbayar gave a faint nod. In her heart, a storm raged.
Khan Köködei assembled his warband, and so did Dulgun. Both faced each other with unflinching eyes.
High above, seated on his carved wooden throne, Khan Baatar Zuun watched from his hill. Beside him stood a tall, masked vigilante—his granddaughter.
He asked her, "Khishigjargal, this Night Blade chieftain is no match for your third sister, is he?"
Khishigjargal bowed slightly. "Grandfather, the third sister is Mother's disciple."
Baatar Zuun turned to study the young warrior. "Then she is more than a match for Köködei."
Dulgun, her eyes burning with resolve, declared, "I will justify this action by presenting your head at my youngest sister's naming ceremony—as a symbol of love, loyalty, and the unshakable unity of our family. No one—no matter how mighty—will question my father's rule after this."
At those words, Khaness Erkhbayar finally smiled with pride. Around her, silence and awe settled.
Suddenly, the faction of the Dune Widows that had stayed behind arrived, joining Köködei's side. Their faces were bitter.
"Our husbands died because of Batu," one spat. "Today, we take our revenge."
Khaness Erkhbayar shouted at them, "Shameless! How dare you gang up on children?!"
But Köködei sneered. "Shut it, old woman. It's none of your business. And besides—they've all passed the height of a horse. You know the law: we do not kill those beneath it."
Khan Tömörjin laughed heartily, sipping his airag as though enjoying a performance.
"Now it gets dramatic," he said, then waved to his guards. "Play the war drums—I want to enjoy this properly."
And just as the drums began to thunder, Dulgun turned to the Dune Widows with ice in her voice.
"So eager to reunite with your dead husbands?"
She raised her sword and roared her war cry.
"Then go to hell!"
As the war drums thundered like the heartbeat of the gods.
Dust swirled in crimson winds as two armies faced off at the base of the hill—Dulgun's banner snapping high, her armor gleaming under the dying sun. Across from her, Khan Köködei, broad-shouldered and wild-eyed, cracked his knuckles and grinned with madness.
Spears clashed. Arrows flew like angry stars. The ground shook under the hooves of charging warhorses. Dulgun carved through the front line like a tempest, each strike precise, each movement calculated. She fought not like a soldier—but like the storm her name whispered of.
A Night Blade lunged at her from behind. Without turning, she spun her sword in a crescent arc—steel met flesh. Blood sprayed the earth. Another charged with twin axes. She ducked, grabbed his wrist mid-swing, twisted—crack—then buried her dagger beneath his ribs.
Köködei roared, watching his men fall like stalks of grass.
"Dulgun!" he bellowed. "Face me!"
She did not hesitate. The crowd parted, as if even death itself feared what would come.
They circled. She in dark-lacquered lamellar, her hair braided tight with red thread—the mark of war. He in furs and bone, tattoos crawling like serpents down his arms. His blade was broad, curved like a predator's fang.
He struck first. A slash meant to take her shoulder.
Clang!
She blocked. The force knocked her back, but she held firm.
He charged again—furious, relentless. She parried. Dodged. His blade grazed her cheek, drawing first blood.
"You bleed like the rest," he sneered.
Dulgun wiped the blood with the back of her hand and smiled. "But I don't fall like the rest."
She switched stance—faster now, sharper. She used his bulk against him, drawing him into overreaches. With a feint to the left, she baited him, then rolled beneath his swing and slashed his calf—deep and crippling.
He stumbled. She rose behind him like a shadow.
"You called me a child," she whispered.
He turned, gasping—but too slow.
With one clean motion—her blade flashed.
His head flew.
It rolled across the blood-soaked field, eyes still wide with disbelief. His body crumpled like a tent without poles.
For a heartbeat, silence fell.
Then—Dulgun raised his severed head high, her voice carrying like thunder.
"This is the price of defying the Khanate!"
Her soldiers erupted in roars. The Night Blades wavered.
The Dune Widows tried to flee—but Dulgun gave no mercy. Her forces descended, swift and final. She led them, cutting down every last rebel with precision and fury. Even those who begged were met with steel—not cruelty, but justice.
By nightfall, the hill ran red. Not a single enemy stood.
As the moon rose, Dulgun stood alone at the summit, drenched in blood and victory. She planted her blade in the earth, then removed her helmet.
From the hills, the other Khans watched in awe. Not a word was spoken.
Fear and respect settled into their bones.
From the peak, the tall masked vigilante bowed, in respect.
"Lead well, sister of war" she said softly, "For you have earned your place in this battlefield."
Khaness Erkhbayar (calculating, proud but self-serving) said "Good. Let the world tremble, so long as they know she comes from my blood. The Storm honors our clan today and let them write songs of her wrath—but never forget whose blood runs in her veins. The glory of our clan rides with her blade."
All her clans men bowed their heads
Khan Baatar Zuun (gruff, impressed but cautious):
"That girl fights like thunder with a blade. If she lives long enough, the steppes will kneel—or burn let no one test her again."
Khan Tömörjin (cynical, slightly drunk, amused) said "Well, I came for a play, and I saw a coronation. Pour me another cup—this girl just rewrote the laws of war."
Then Tomorbatar dashed forward, seized Khan Köködei's severed head, and held it high for all the Khans to see.
"The wild boar is dead!" he shouted. "And one day, it could be your head I raise."