It happened long ago.

Not that long ago, though.

There was a woman born on the vast steppe.

The stars embroidered across the night sky were her blanket, and the soft grass her fluffy bed. She romped and played with horses. Whenever she spotted a winding valley, her heart would swell with anticipation as she set off to explore it.

She wanted for nothing.

Looking back now, it was because there was nothing else to want. A pointed ger tent and fresh sheep’s milk to nourish her were all she needed to feel utterly content.

Her days were filled with the simple joys of tearing into roasted horse meat around the campfire, chatting and laughing with her parents.

Then came a particularly biting autumn day when that peace scattered like fallen leaves.

Her mother passed first. You’ll soar to the Sky Palace on the wings of an eagle. The autumn sky was cruelly clear.

But her husband couldn’t join the funeral rites. He too was gripped by illness.

“Jamukha… become strong.”

It had only been a week since her mother left this world. Her father followed her to the Sky Palace.

At eight years old, Jamukha lost both parents. Such tragedies weren’t uncommon on the steppe.

But still…

The emptiness hit her hard. Was that cramped little ger always this hollow? Jamukha sank into melancholy.

The tender horse meat she once loved now tasted like tough, jaw-aching jerky. How had she ever found this delicious? Without the rank sheep’s milk, her throat cracked and parched.

Even the pristine sky and earth, untainted by mining damage, began to feel hateful. They seemed like thieves who had stolen her parents. Jamukha came to despise the entire steppe.

Let’s leave.

The decision came easily, but the path ahead loomed uncertain. Where to go?

Jamukha had lived her whole life on the steppe. Her parents, who claimed descent from the Khan, were staunch naturalists. They shunned word of the outside world.

Yet there was one exception.

“Lake City.”

Even from her steppe-bound parents, the name carried weight. It had to be a grand city.

With that single thought, Jamukha set her sights on Lake City. But her first step faltered.

How would she get there?

And what would she do once she arrived?

She was utterly unprepared.

All she had was a body just a bit sturdier than her parents’.

That was when she recalled her father’s dying words. “Become strong.”

Father…

Perhaps, sensing his own end, he’d foreseen his daughter heading to Lake City. That was why he’d dropped the name casually.

And, out of concern that she should not leave before she had strength enough, he must have left those words as his dying wish.

That realization cleared her mind for the first time since their passing.

She knew where to go. And what to prepare before then.

From that day, Jamukha began her training.

Nothing fancy. She’d spot a bush, a valley, or a hillock in the blue desert and smash it flat. With her bare fists.

It was the regimen her parents had taught her. Until she was two, this land still bore traces of mountains. Her parents had claimed and leveled it into plains.

When her punches grew strong enough, they’d trained alongside her.

She took to it quickly. Her speed, power, and earth-shattering strikes were no joke. Her parents’ awe spurred her on.

Jamukha poured her memories into every punch.

No major ridges left… Let’s just lower the steppe’s surface by another ten meters.

Day and night, she hammered the bare ground with her fists. At night, her blanket shook; by day, her bed trembled.

Villagers beyond the steppe lost sleep to the constant quakes.

Eventually, they whispered of her as “the Wrath of the Gods.”

Boom! Boom!

Oblivious to it all, Jamukha pressed on. No one dared approach the rumbling earth. She trained undisturbed.

For two full years.

She’d reached about half her goal when a visitor arrived at her ger.

“Temujin’s daughter, are you?”

The man looked utterly unremarkable. Filthier than Jamukha, who trained from dawn to dusk. A scraggly beard might’ve lent him some rugged charm, but even that was patchy, like rats had gnawed it.

Ugly.

That was her first impression.

Yet she didn’t chase him off. Three reasons.

His rags screamed poverty, but his eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence.

Second, he’d named her father.

I’ve never been apart from Father my whole life.

That meant he’d known him for at least a decade or two. And recognizing her on sight as Temujin’s daughter? They were acquaintances, for sure.

Finally, she craved human company. Desperately.

To her, the steppe and Lake City were the whole world. She’d sworn to the Thunder Granny Goddess she’d only leave once her training ended.

Without visitors, she had no chance to see anyone. And her training had isolated her completely.

This was the first soul she’d seen since her parents’ deaths. No wariness stirred—not because her mind was pure, but because he seemed pathetically frail…

I could flay his skin with a puff of breath.

Steppemen don’t exaggerate. It was plain fact.

“I am Jamukha, daughter of Temujin.”

Her private assessment done, she greeted him courteously. Idle as she was, her father had taught her hospitality. Treat guests poorly, and the Thunder Granny Goddess punishes you.

“It’s written all over your face. Thirsty, though—mind sharing that sheep’s milk?”

“Ah, sure.”

Reluctant but compliant, she handed over the milk pouch. He flopped down and guzzled it greedily.

Parched, no doubt. The thick liquid slid down his throat. He wiped his mouth, then fired abruptly:

“Temujin—is he dead?”

Jamukha bristled. Such dry words for her father’s passing.

As anger flashed in her eyes, the ger flap billowed. The campfire snuffed out.

“Heh, forgetting hospitality already?”

“Guests have manners too.”

“Manners are a weakling’s shield. I’m not weaker than you, so no need.”

“…?”

What nonsense was this?

He looked like a stiff breeze would extinguish him. His bravado was so absurd, she couldn’t even counter.

“I’m saying it plain. Not that I’m stronger than you, Jamukha. Just not weaker.”

“…What do you even know about me?”

“I don’t know who you are. But I know Temujin’s daughter.”

The talk grew baffling. He smirked, creases forming at his mouth.

“This land was once the Sky Mountains. Temujin, Saika, and I found it first—we know it well.”

“You knew my mother too?”

“Of course.”

A bitter smile crossed his face.

“…How could I forget the name of the woman I loved?”

“Huh.”

“Ancient history. I knew it. Saika liked strong men, and as you see, I’m a weakling. Temujin was a mutant powerhouse beyond compare. Her choice was obvious.”

“Mother was a beauty, yes.”

Jamukha dropped her guard. The fire rekindled. Warmth returned to the ger. He chuckled.

“Exactly. Jamukha, if you’d inherited even half her looks, you’d be quite the catch.”

“…I’ve never heard I’m ugly. Quite the opposite—people call me pretty—”

“You’ve only ever been with Temujin and Saika, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then ‘pretty’ came from them. Look here, what parent calls their child ugly? Parents gloss over every flaw with a smile.”

Stunned, Jamukha listened rapt. His eloquence captivated her.

“Were you someone’s parent?”

“No. I only ever adored Saika. Even now she’s gone, I have zero interest in other women.”

“You speak like someone who knows parenthood well. I wondered.”

He fiddled with the milk pouch absentmindedly, then upended it into the fire.

“Temujin’s daughter, Jamukha.”

Fetid smell filled the ger. As Jamukha stared blankly at the stream, he continued.

“From today, you are my daughter.”

“…Pardon?”

“The day the Thunder Granny Goddess looked upon you, I swore it. As Temujin’s sole friend and rival, I’d be your godfather.”

“Father asked the man who loved Mother to be my godfather?”

Some dysfunctional family.

“He laid that curse on me out of spite. Knew I’d protect Saika’s daughter, come hell or high water.”

“No, that’s been bugging me—”

She frowned.

“Sorry to offend Father’s friend, but you look weaker than me by far. Temujin’s daughter isn’t some frail thing to hear ‘weak’ from you.”

“Who said otherwise? You’re just bristling alone.”

“…No.”

“Temujin’s daughter, Jamukha. Your strength is proven on this steppe. But if you don’t know how to wield it, is it truly strength?”

She flinched. Her progress had stalled lately. No—it had stalled completely.

And he struck the core. Then grinned wolfishly.

“Behold.”

He rolled up his sleeve. Jamukha’s eyes widened.

“Muscles…”

“None, right?”

Not a trace. With arms like that, I couldn’t even lift the milk pouch.

“Born without them, you see. Trained to move with the bare minimum.”

He lowered his sleeve.

“Imagine. If you mastered such control. Where might Temujin’s daughter rise?”

The pitch ended. Jamukha sprang up and knelt before him—this man hundreds of times weaker.

“Teach me.”

“I’ll teach you. But on one condition.”

She met his gaze.

“I swear to the Thunder Granny Goddess: I am the daughter of Temujin, Saika, and you.”

He stroked her head.

“Let’s get strong, Jamukha.”

That was her master.

“What the…”

What the hell happened to that master?

“…Why’d you come here?”