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Mandalore was built on conquest. Some saw strength and glory and righteousness in it. But far many more were those who had been conquered. Inseparably Mandalorians, now, for many generations, but with long memories that spoke of the cruelty that brought them to that point.
Perhaps, these people said, Mandalore could become something better than it was, where their history of violence was grieved, not celebrated. It was not hard to imagine; the evidence of its destructiveness was everywhere, and so many wearied of the endless cycle.
Many warriors scoffed at the idea, and decried its proponents as weak. Peace, they sneered, would come when Mandalore claimed the entire galaxy, and not a day sooner. To say otherwise would be to abandon their traditions, they said, ignoring all of their traditions that did not involve the subjugation of everyone else.
So, Mandalore turned on itself. The brutal warfare only served to convince more and more Mandalorians that they had to abandon their veneration of combat, conquest, and slaughter.
Eventually, they did. Those that kept fighting dwindled in number, until they were only a small faction that could be arrested, charged, and exiled.
And for a time, the rest had peace.