Sordward held the black stone in his palm, staring at it for a long moment before lifting his gaze to the newly evolved Doublade floating beside him. The crimson ribbons extending from its hilts swayed in the breeze.
It had been three days since Summer's brutal training began—three days of pure hell.
He had always believed himself to be of unyielding will, yet this experience had nearly broken him. Summer's strength was beyond anything he had ever encountered, a towering wall that made him question his own worth.
For the first time, he truly understood what it meant to meet someone beyond human limits.
There had been moments when he had wanted to give up, to walk away from this hopeless struggle. But in his darkest moments, he remembered the oath he swore—not just to himself, but in front of Summer.
And so, he endured.
He had been praised all his life, told he was a genius, never challenged, never doubted. But now, standing here, exhausted yet victorious, he finally saw the truth—
His so-called invincibility had been nothing more than a well-crafted lie.
But rather than despair, he felt relieved.
Yes, he had been weak. But so what? That only meant he had room to grow.
If he had remained ignorant, blind to his own shortcomings, he would have one day met a true adversary and not even known how or why he lost.
"Lord Sordward?" Fowler's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Sordward let out a slow breath before turning to his butler with a rare, genuine smile. "So this is what growth feels like... Not bad."
Fowler observed him carefully. He had watched the young master struggle and break under Summer's relentless training.
And yet—here he was, smiling.
There was no doubt about it.
This was real growth.
"Congratulations, my lord," Fowler said sincerely.
"Yes… I must properly thank Master Summer," Sordward replied, his expression steady as he scanned the area. His excitement over Doublade's evolution had led him to wander away for a moment, but now that he looked around—
"Where is Master Summer?"
"Ah, he left for the forest," Fowler explained. "Alone."
Sordward tensed at first, but then let out a sigh. "No… if it's Master Summer, there's no need to worry."
After all, Summer had yet to even reveal three of his Pokémon.
For all they knew, the ones he hadn't used yet were even stronger.
Straightening his posture, Sordward turned his gaze to his newly evolved partner. "Fowler, I'm going to challenge Hilder again. This time, it'll be me and Doublade."
The twin blades clashed together with a resounding chime, their crimson eyes gleaming with determination. They wanted a rematch as much as he did.
"Will you not use the Dusk Stone?" Fowler asked.
"Not yet." Sordward stored the black stone away and looked at Doublade. "Before we evolve again, we need more experience."
"I understand, my lord. And after the battle?"
"We wait for Master Summer's return. I still owe him three favors—and a Cavendish always repays his debts."
His gaze turned toward the dense forest ahead, where Summer had gone alone.
Summer would return victorious.
And when he did, Sordward would show him the results of his training.
Deep within the forest, Summer walked through thickening mist.
The further he went, the denser the fog became. He stopped, glancing around. He was close.
Close to the central lake.
Behind him, Rillaboom and Corviknight also came to a halt, their sharp eyes scanning the area. They knew what Summer was after—the legendary warriors of Galar.
And their hearts pounded with excitement.
Summer muttered to himself, "So this is it. The legendary heroes of three thousand years past… I was bound to meet them eventually, so why wait?"
Originally, he had planned to seek them out after returning to his own time, but if they were already here—
Why not introduce himself now?
"Milotic," he called, tossing a Poké Ball into the air.
A graceful figure emerged from the mist—Milotic, its long, sinuous body coiling elegantly as prismatic scales shimmered through the fog.
Even here, in this strange, ancient world, its presence remained serene and noble.
"Milotic, can you sense the lake?" Summer asked.
Milotic closed its amber eyes, focusing.
This fog… it wasn't normal.
It felt familiar, yet also different.
Not the work of a Water-type, but rather… a Fairy-type.
Milotic's eyes snapped open in understanding.
This fog was the same kind that Hatterene could produce—
And fog was Milotic's domain.
"Milooo~"
Turning its head, Milotic directed Summer toward the true path.
Summer raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, then chuckled. "So I was walking in circles. As expected of you, Milotic."
Milotic lifted its head proudly—as if to say, but of course~
Rillaboom and Corviknight exchanged glances.
Even in ancient Galar, their "Queen of the Lake" never changed.
"Lead the way, Milotic," Summer said, following its direction.
At the lakeside clearing, two massive wolves rested in the sunlight.
Their fur shimmered in the light, one blue as the sky, the other red as burning embers.
Suddenly, the blue wolf's eyes snapped open.
It twitched an ear, sensing a disturbance in the fog.
Beside it, the red wolf stretched lazily, its golden eyes scanning the surroundings before its tail began to wag.
The blue wolf stood up as well, its own tail flicking with anticipation.
It had been a long time since anyone worth fighting had appeared.
The last few humans to wander here had been… boring.
So boring, in fact, that even they had become too relaxed.
Were there no more heroes left in this land?
The blue wolf let out a low growl, glancing at its red-furred companion.
Perhaps this time would be different.
"Arrooo~"
The red wolf grinned, claws digging into the dirt.
It had been too long since they'd last had a good fight.
And so, they waited.
Ten minutes later—
Through the mist, four figures emerged.
A serpentine beauty with shimmering, rainbow-like scales led the way, followed by a calm yet determined trainer, and behind him—a massive gorilla and a towering steel bird.
As they stepped into the clearing, Summer immediately spotted them—Zacian and Zamazenta, standing atop a small hill near the lake.
They weren't surprised.
Of course, they wouldn't be.
They were the ones controlling the mist, after all.
And yet—before Summer could even take a breath—Zacian moved.
A blue streak cut through the air like a sword, whipping up a gust sharp enough to slice through solid rock. At the same time, Zamazenta charged forward, shaking the earth beneath its paws like a rampaging war beast.
Summer barely had a second to react.
"Are they always this aggressive?!"
"Rillaboom—Drum Beating! Create a wall!"
With a mighty slam, Rillaboom's drum sent roots bursting from the ground, intertwining into a thick barrier of wood.
But it wasn't enough.
Zacian barely touched the wall—just a light step—and soared into the air effortlessly, completely avoiding the obstacle. Zamazenta, on the other hand, didn't bother dodging at all.
It simply smashed through it.
"Corviknight, Air Slash! Milotic, Hydro Pump!"
A razor-sharp gust and a surging torrent of water shot toward the incoming wolves. Ordinarily, avoiding such attacks would be child's play for them—
But as soon as Rillaboom struck its drum again—the roots moved.
Thick tendrils of wood shot up from the ground, twisting around Zacian and Zamazenta's hind legs, locking them in place.
Finally, the two wolves took direct hits.
Zacian skidded back slightly, its fur rippling from the impact of the wind blade. Zamazenta was momentarily drenched by the Hydro Pump, its body steaming as it vaporized the water instantly.
Yet neither of them looked angry.
No, if anything…
They looked excited.
Zacian let out a sharp growl, its fangs glowing like a blade. With a flick of its head, it sliced through the roots as if they were made of paper. Its movements were so fluid and effortless that not a single strand of its fur was out of place.
Zamazenta, rather than cutting itself free, simply let out a deep, guttural roar. A pulse of sheer force erupted from its body, shattering the roots into splinters.
Summer tensed.
Even without their sword and shield, their power was still this overwhelming?
But then—
The two wolves stopped.
They no longer looked like they were about to attack. Instead, they stared at Summer—evaluating him.
Was that… a test?
Zacian's tail flicked, almost playfully. Zamazenta huffed, the corner of its mouth twitching slightly.
Summer exhaled, finally allowing himself to relax.
"Well," he muttered, shaking his head. "That was one hell of a greeting."
Zacian's ears twitched.
They seemed pleased by the compliment.
Without another word, Zacian turned and walked toward the lake. Zamazenta followed, pausing only to glance back at Summer—its golden eyes silently telling him to come along.
Summer hesitated for only a second before following.
He had a pretty good idea where this was going.
After all—
There was still something at the bottom of this lake he hadn't seen yet.
As they reached the water's edge, Zacian let out a low, melodic howl, the sound vibrating in the air like the ringing of a blade.
"You seem very interested in our past, human."
Summer's eyes widened.
He had understood that.
He could actually understand them.
"There's no need to be surprised," Zamazenta's voice rumbled, deep and steady. "We were born from humans, after all. We are the embodiment of war and conviction."
"War… and conviction?" Summer echoed.
"Yes," Zacian confirmed. "We were born from battle. In those days, they called us the King of Swords and the King of Shields. But after we lost our weapons, they began to call us something else—the Warriors of a Hundred Battles."
Zamazenta stepped forward, gazing at the lake.
"The world has changed. The wars ended. And with peace… so too did our strength fade."
Summer listened intently as the two wolves began to recount their past.
A long time ago, the land of Galar was prosperous, rich with life and resources. But with prosperity came greed—and from beyond the seas, three great nations sought to claim Galar's land for themselves.
The war began, and Galar was losing.
Their armies were outnumbered, their defenses overwhelmed.
The kingdom was on the verge of collapse.
But even in the face of annihilation, the people did not surrender.
They fought, clinging to their last shreds of hope, determined to protect their home.
It was in that moment—when their conviction burned brightest—that the wolves were born.
"We do not know how we came to be," Zacian admitted. "We only know that we awoke in a lake… not one filled with water, but with willpower, defiance, and unyielding spirit."
Born from the sheer determination of the people, Zacian and Zamazenta leapt onto the battlefield, cutting through enemy forces like a storm.
They did not fear death.
They did not know defeat.
"At first, we fought with whatever weapons we could find," Zamazenta continued. "Shattered spears, broken swords—whatever we could pick up, we wielded until it broke."
And in the wake of their charge—the people followed.
"We were not alone," Zacian said. "They marched behind us. They fought beside us."
And then, as an act of gratitude, the people of Galar forged weapons just for them.
A sword infused with unbreakable resolve.
A shield reinforced by unwavering faith.
As soon as the wolves touched them—their power changed.
With blades sharper than lightning and defenses stronger than mountains, they became Galar's greatest warriors.
The enemy, realizing they could no longer win, fled.
Galar had been saved.
But the wolves… disappeared.
"We are born from war, but we despise it," Zacian murmured. "We knew that if we remained, our power would only be used to start more battles."
And so, they vanished from history.
Or at least, they tried.
Because years later, the people of Galar—no longer content with peace—sought power again.
And in their desperation, they awakened something far worse than war.
A red dragon.
A monster.
A force of destruction unlike anything the world had ever seen.
Zacian's and Zamazenta's eyes darkened.
"It was a being of unspeakable power. Even more terrifying than war itself. A force that could have ended the world."
"But we stopped it," Zamazenta said firmly. "At great cost."
Their weapons shattered.
Their bodies poisoned by the dragon's energy.
Yet, they endured—long enough to seal it away.
And then, they slept.
For how long, they didn't know.
By the time they awoke, the world had changed.
The people had forgotten them.
Their power had waned.
And yet, they still remained.
"Even without our sword and shield," Zacian said, glancing at Summer. "We still choose to protect this land."
Summer exhaled slowly, his mind still processing everything.
They weren't just heroes.
They were legends incarnate.
A small smile played on his lips. "Zacian, Zamazenta… I have a proposal."
Their ears perked up.
Summer pointed at the lake.
"You lost your weapons, right?" He smirked.
"Well… what if I told you the materials for your new ones are lying at the bottom of this lake?"