The Grey Dwarves… probably wouldn't dare launch another invasion against humanity anytime soon.
Ten years of peace? Lyle found that estimate from Chieftain Dielon rather optimistic, but even if exaggerated, it still meant a valuable stretch of relative safety.
Still, Lyle had no intention of simply resting on that.
He'd finally made contact with the humans here, and beyond understanding the lay of the land within the Valley of Despair, he had something more pressing in mind—intelligence on what lay beyond.
A vague plan had already begun forming in his mind.
If this valley truly sat near the central region of the continent, then it could become a critical hub for him in the future. Even if it turned out to be somewhere remote, that wasn't a problem. In fact, it might be even better. Isolation meant safety—and safety meant opportunity. It could be a perfect starting point.
But for any of this to happen, he needed information. A lot of it.
"Tell me everything you know about this Valley of Despair," Lyle said calmly, eyes settling on Chieftain Dielon.
Dielon didn't hesitate. According to his daughter Yaral, the man before him was a terrifyingly powerful outsider. More importantly, he was human—one of their own, not a beast or dwarf.
He had also heard tales from his father, an old warrior who once spoke of humans surviving beyond this valley, albeit in harsh conditions. Many had perished. Yet someone like Lyle... someone with that kind of strength, could probably survive anywhere.
Inwardly, Dielon felt a rush of gratitude. Thank the gods this monstrous powerhouse happened to be human.
After a brief moment of thought, the chieftain reached for a bone shard on the table and crouched to the ground. He drew three circles in the dirt.
"These are the three largest oases in the valley," he began. "The innermost one is ours—where the humans live. The two to the north belong to the Dwarves and the Beastmen."
Then, above those, he drew a jagged broken line at the far north.
"Beyond that is a range of towering mountains," he explained. "And further south lies a volcanic region—an endless chain of erupting peaks."
Lyle quietly absorbed the information as Dielon continued outlining the region.
A desert so vast and enclosed by mountainous barriers that it earned the title of 'Valley.' Mountains to the north, volcanoes to the south—the whole area boxed in by nature itself.
"That Beastman-held oasis... it's the closest to the northern mountains," Dielon added, his voice lowering slightly. "Rumor has it there's a link between that place and the outer world, something called the Shadow Ravine. Details are scarce."
Just from the way Dielon said the word "Beastmen," it was clear. He was afraid. No—terrified. And for good reason. It seemed those creatures made the Grey Dwarves look like cuddly molefolk.
"The Shadow Ravine?" Lyle raised an eyebrow.
Dielon pointed to the broken line he'd drawn in the dirt. "That's it. The gap in the mountain range. It's the only known path out of Valley of Despair. But it's extremely dangerous. They say a fortress was built there long ago by outside nations, and now... well, now the Beastmen have taken it."
Lyle's brows furrowed slightly. This place... was starting to feel less like a naturally forgotten corner of the world and more like a dump site—abandoned and sealed off by the powers beyond.
But if they built a fortress... then there had to be something worth protecting. Or hiding.
Dielon didn't seem to know much else, and Lyle couldn't really blame him. When your daily concern is whether you'll still have enough food or people by the end of the week, gathering international intel isn't exactly high on the to-do list.
Most of what Dielon did know came from his father—the last man in their tribe to step into the realm of heroes. That alone had piqued Lyle's interest earlier.
From what he'd heard, the old warrior wasn't just talented; he was most likely born with a rare innate ability. A true anomaly. One that may have kept the tribe alive through sheer stubborn defiance of fate.
"Oh, right. Do you recognize this?" Lyle asked suddenly, reaching into his cloak. In truth, he simply summoned it from his magical inventory—a palm-sized, brownish rock, rough and unassuming at a glance.
Dielon's posture straightened immediately.
"The Heart of a Stonebeast!" he exclaimed, then caught himself and nodded more calmly. "Of course, with your strength, it makes sense…"
"It's the core of a very dangerous monster native to this valley. My father said it's extremely valuable."
Lyle tilted his head, intrigued.
"The Grey Dwarves are able to refine these into weapons and armor with unique properties," Dielon continued. "Even the Beastmen collect them. My father once traded one of these for a huge amount of supplies."
"Hmm. Makes sense," Lyle nodded. Dwarves being talented blacksmiths wasn't exactly breaking news, but the fact that Beastmen valued the material too—that was unexpected.
"Father!"
A cheerful, feminine voice rang out from beyond the firelight.
Yaral came bounding toward them, carrying a set of armor and a large horn. Her earlier heavy armor was now gone, replaced by something more suited to the valley's desert heat—shorts and a crop-wrap in sandy hues, revealing a toned midriff and sun-darkened limbs. She looked every bit like a predator of the dunes—agile, lithe, and alert.
Her athletic legs and muscled thighs hinted at years of relentless running and training. She moved like a hunting cat, all instinct and motion.
The temperature in the desert, even at night, hovered around twenty-five degrees. Yaral had taken advantage of that brief lull in battle to use Lyle's diluted healing potion on the wounded. With her job done, she returned with a bright, flushed smile despite her labored breath from carrying the heavy gear.
The healing potion had worked miracles. Most of the wounded would survive. Some had died, yes—but death was no stranger to these people. In this forsaken valley, survival itself was the victory.
"Great Hero!" Yaral announced proudly, sliding to her knees in front of Lyle. "This is the most intact set of armor we recovered... and this horn. I think it has some sort of magical ability. It belonged to the Grey Dwarven commander."
Lyle blinked.
"Great Hero?" Again with the title?
Dielon scowled and barked, "Yaral! We only survived thanks to the Great Hero. All spoils belong to him!"
"I know," Yaral murmured, lowering her head. "I just wanted him to see this one set…"
Lyle sighed and raised a hand to cut them off.
"You keep the armor. I don't need this junk."
To him, Grey Dwarf gear was little more than scrap—iron weapons, metal-plated armor. Useful for the locals maybe, but hardly worthy of his inventory.
"But this one might be different!" Yaral quickly added, voice almost pleading. "It's... special!"
Special?
Lyle raised an eyebrow and glanced at the horn. It did have an odd gleam to it.
He reached out and picked it up with one hand. Magical light flickered in his eyes.
Appraisal!
His gaze sharpened. The horn's enchantment wasn't anything overly complex—it boosted morale and transmitted sound over great distances. But it was something else that caught him off guard.
His expression shifted. Without a word, he reached for the armor in Yaral's arms.
Appraisal—again.
Yaral's eyes sparkled as she watched him.
To her, Lyle wasn't just a warrior. He was a miracle. He lifted the armor with one hand, no strain at all, while she could barely hold it steady with two.
And his pale skin, his raven-black hair… everything about him was otherworldly.
Even Dielon noticed her stare and gave Lyle a cautious glance. His scarred face, for once, softened with hope.
Lyle, however, didn't notice. He was staring at the glowing runes now revealed by his skill.
"These... are rune tools?" he muttered.
He looked up slowly.
"So, the Grey Dwarves in this region have mastered rune technology?"
Now that was unexpected.
And very, very interesting.