Chapter 483: This Must Be the World's Fault
The convoy detoured, moving parallel to the outer edge of the Krookodile's territory. Just before nightfall, they found a spot on the leeward side of a sand dune, parked the vehicles, and set up camp for the night.
After pitching the tents, they unloaded the case of Poké Balls and released the Maractus and Cacturne one by one. Pokémon couldn't be kept in their balls all the time, or they'd get sick. Even Grass-types needed to be let out to stretch their roots, otherwise, even a plant can get depressed.
Releasing the cactus Pokémon during their break served two purposes: it allowed them to move around, and by having them take root around the campsite, they could also serve as a natural alarm system for the night.
While the sun was still up, the dozens of cactus Pokémon formed a circle around the camp and took root, soaking up the last rays of sunlight. The Maractus swayed happily, their bodies creating a series of crisp, bell-like chimes that, when combined, formed a surprisingly pleasant melody. This was how the Maraca Pokémon got its name.
During this downtime, Arthur also released his own Pokémon to let them get some fresh air. Little Eevee was the most excited. Being the youngest, it had never seen a desert before. The sight of so much sand sent it into a frenzy of gleeful digging.
Specter and Old Flame, on the other hand, were much calmer. They were seasoned veterans; a mere desert was nothing new to them. However, Specter quietly put an arm around Mismagius and drifted a good distance away from Old Flame and his family. Being near a Fire-type Pokémon during the daytime in a desert was not a pleasant experience. In that moment, a cool breeze was worth more than a hundred years of camaraderie.
Lina, meanwhile, volunteered to go hunting with Skarner's Gliscor. Although they had brought food, they had to supplement their supplies to conserve rations for the long journey ahead. Fortunately, the two types of cactus Pokémon didn't need food; they could sustain themselves just by taking root.
In the evening, the group sat together, boiling a pot of compressed rations with the freshwater drawn from the cactus Pokémon. During the meal, Skarner was surprised by Arthur's adaptability. "I'm surprised you're so used to eating this stuff."
"Is that something to be surprised about?" Arthur asked.
Skarner smiled. "Not really. It's just that most people from the Kubfu Alliance who come to the desert aren't as well-adjusted to the environment as you are. And you look so young, with such good skin. At first, I thought you were one of those pampered, competitive-type trainers." His Kubfu accent was flawless, a clear sign that he had dealt with many people from the east. This wasn't empty flattery; it was genuine admiration.
Arthur just smiled. "I am a competitive-type trainer."
Skarner gave him a long, hard look. He didn't say anything, but his eyes clearly said, I don't believe you for a second.
Although it was only their first day in the desert, many of Arthur's actions had already impressed Skarner. It was rare for someone not yet twenty to display such resilience in the scorching desert heat. Not to mention, Skarner had noticed many of Arthur's subconscious habits throughout the day. For example, the placement of his Poké Balls was meticulous, with a few always positioned where he could reach them instantly. This was not the habit of a competitive trainer.
Skarner had seen his share of competitive battles. Those trainers generally only used their Poké Balls at the beginning and end of a match, with maybe one or two mid-battle switches. They would never pay attention to such a detail.
Furthermore, Skarner had noticed several times that whenever Arthur sensed danger, his hand would instinctively go to the Poké Balls on his belt. His composure was terrifyingly steady. When he saw the Krookodile bite the camel to death, he hadn't even blinked. And you're telling me this is a competitive trainer? Are the stadiums in the Kubfu Alliance really that wild? I'm not that well-read, you can't fool me!
But in the end, the shrewd scout kept his thoughts to himself. Everyone has secrets, and it's dangerous to pry into them without having built enough trust. This was a survival lesson he had learned from his years in this chaotic region. And now, when facing Arthur, he had subconsciously maxed out his danger sense. Even though he had yet to see Arthur truly in action, he trusted his veteran instincts. This boy is not simple. Not simple in any sense of the word.
Arthur, for his part, had also noticed the man's wariness and faint sense of awe. He sighed inwardly. As expected of a mercenary who's worked with a sly old fox like Dr. Zeratano for so long. His observational skills are sharp.
But after the praise came a sigh of resignation. He wasn't lying, so why did he always feel so misunderstood? He could only make a mental shrug of helplessness. This must be the world's fault.
As night fell, the desert temperature dropped rapidly. Little Lapras finally regained some of her energy. The intense heat and dryness of the day were extremely unpleasant for a Water/Ice-type like her. So, she spent the night animatedly discussing divine revelations and prophecies with the Sandslash, chatting about the connection between the earth and the sea, from the origins of the universe to the mission of Pokémon.
Even Arthur, who was maintaining the mental link, eventually fell asleep, but Little Lapras was still deep in conversation with her newfound best friend. The last thing Arthur saw before drifting off was the Sandslash's eyelids drooping, clearly fighting to stay awake. He's having a rough time too, Arthur thought, and then peacefully sank into sleep.
He hadn't expected his sleep to be so short-lived. Even on a rare expedition, he was deprived of his right to sleep in.
Before dawn, Arthur was jolted awake by a commotion. "What's going on?!"
Even before he left his tent, he knew something was wrong. It was too loud. It wasn't just the chiming of the Maractus; there were also the chaotic sounds of shouting, screaming, and the cries of Pokémon.
He immediately jumped out of his sleeping bag, not even bothering to put on a shirt before unzipping his tent. The scene before him left him dumbfounded. Their makeshift camp was surrounded.
A pack of Krookodile, along with their pre-evolved forms, Krokorok, and a host of other follower Pokémon like Excadrill, Silicobra, and even the rare Ghost-type Golurk, had them completely encircled.
Arthur was stunned. He hadn't even had a chance to go and "communicate" with the Krookodile Chieftain, and its underlings had already come to them?
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