Chapter 44: Learning About the World Part 2

"Now let’s talk about your neighbors," John shifted the topic, leaning his elbows on the table. "You mentioned this continent is teeming with different factions—other beastkin clans, elves, dwarves, and independent territories. What are the Ironclaw’s diplomatic ties with them? Are they friendly, hostile, or neutral?"

John looked directly into her golden amber eyes. "I need an objective answer, Lady Lyra. No sugarcoating. If we’re going to secure this region and establish a lasting presence, I need to know who can be reasoned with and who will shoot first."

Lyra nodded seriously, understanding the strategic importance of the question.

"I will give you the unvarnished truth, Commander," Lyra answered. "To understand the Western Continent, you must understand that demi-humans are not a single unified nation. We are fractured into hundreds of autonomous tribes, clans, and federations."

She began laying out the political landscape.

"First, our immediate neighbors along the coast and southern riverlands are mostly peaceful or trade-oriented. Tribes like the Rivertail otter-kin and the Sunmane felids engage in open commerce with us. We share seasonal hunting grounds, intermarry, and trade basic goods. They are weary of outsiders, but they value peace and can easily be reasoned with."

"What about the non-beastkin races?" John asked. "The elves and the dwarves."

"The Elven Realms reside deep within the Great Emerald Canopy to the southwest," Lyra explained. "They are ancient, magical, and fiercely isolationist. They rarely leave their sacred borders and shoot trespassers on sight with enchanted bows, though they harbor no territorial ambitions against us. The Dwarves dwell beneath the Ironcrag Mountains to the east. They are stubborn and gruff, but entirely pragmatic. If you bring them high-grade coal, steel, or rare spirits, they will gladly forge weapons and trade with anyone, regardless of race."

John committed the details to memory. Friendly coastal traders, isolationist elves, and mercenary-minded dwarven smiths. That was manageable.

"And the threats?" John asked, noticing the subtle tension creeping into her shoulders. "I assume not all demi-humans live in harmony."

Lyra’s ears flattened slightly against her dark hair, a rare flicker of genuine dread surfacing in her eyes.

"No, Commander. Far from it," Lyra said in a hushed, grave tone. "The greatest danger on this continent does not come from foreign human fleets. It comes from our own kind."

"Who are they?"

"The Bloodfang Horde," Lyra replied, her voice taut with lingering fear. "They are the largest, most militarily dominant beastkin superpower on this continent, led by the savage Crimson-Tusks and Great-Ape clans. They control vast swathes of the northern steppes and central highlands, subjugating dozens of smaller tribes through sheer brutality and blood-tithes."

She looked at John with dead seriousness.

"The Bloodfang cannot be reasoned with through words, Commander. Their entire culture is built on the law of the jungle—the strong rule, and the weak serve or die. They despise civilized trade, reject diplomatic treaties, and view peaceful coastal tribes like the Ironclaw as soft prey waiting to be conquered. Even before the human empire arrived, our chieftains feared the day the Bloodfang would set their sights on our shores."

John tapped his chin thoughtfully, absorbing the revelation.

So the region wasn’t just facing a colonial threat from the human empire across the ocean. There was also a massive, aggressive barbarian empire dominating the northern interior of the continent.

"Good to know," John said calmly, not showing the slightest bit of intimidation. "Whether it’s an imperial crusade from the east or a barbarian horde from the north, our policy remains the same: trade with the reasonable, and completely destroy anyone who threatens our allies."

John paused, tapping his fingers against the folding table as he shifted to the next topic on his mind.

"There’s one more place I need to ask you about," John said, keeping his tone casual and purely inquisitive. "During our reconnaissance and intelligence gathering from imperial records, we found mentions of a place called the Abyssian Dungeon. Have you or your lorekeepers ever heard of it?"

He made sure to hide the fact that he had been banished there by Goddess Viona. To Lyra, it was just another strategic inquiry.

Lyra’s amber eyes widened slightly at the name, her ears perking up.

"The Abyssian Dungeon..." Lyra murmured, nodding slowly. "Yes, the elders speak of it in ancient legends, though few living souls have ever dared approach its boundary."

"What kind of place is it?" John asked. "Is it an isolated pocket dimension or a magical labyrinth?"

"In ancient myths, common folk believed it was a cursed seal or an execution ground created by divine magic," Lyra explained. "However, according to our tribe’s oldest lore, the Abyssian Dungeon is not an alternate dimension at all. It is an ancient spatial gateway leading to a completely real, distant territory on the surface of this world."

"A gateway to another surface region?" John leaned forward, his interest piqued.

"Yes. A physical passage that instantly connects two far-flung parts of the globe," Lyra said. "Stepping through its archway doesn’t trap you in a magical void; it deposits you onto the surface of an uncharted, remote wilderness across the ocean or on the far side of the planet. It is an untamed, perilous land teeming with ancient monsters, harsh terrain, and primitive tribes that have never had contact with the civilized kingdoms."

John listened carefully, a sudden revelation clicking in his mind.

When he had first awakened in that brutal, violent landscape, he had assumed Goddess Viona had tossed him into an isolated pocket realm designed solely as an execution chamber. But as he fought his way through the wilderness to level up his system, he had encountered open skies, weathered plateaus, massive orc clans, and sprawling monster habitats.

So the Abyss wasn’t an alternate dimension or a death pit, John realized. It was just an uncharted, extremely dangerous surface territory right here in this world.

The heavily armed orc tribes he had wiped out with modern machine guns and artillery while establishing his base weren’t magical constructs or spawned dungeon mobs. They were real, native inhabitants living in a distant wilderness that the church had simply sealed off behind a gateway.

"Where is the entrance to this gateway located?" John inquired.

"There are a lot of entrances, and you could enter there via magic. But in this continent, well I have yet to hear a story about a gate appearing."