Vilde never imagined that, after surviving this long, the world could still surprise him with something new.
That man, the one who called himself Sakaki, commanded a nightmarish creature—a massive wasp with a striped body and glinting wings, its forelimbs tipped with two cruel, gleaming stingers. Under his orders, the monster toyed with Pikachu as though the little creature were nothing more than a plaything.
Until now, after their short adventures together, Vilde had believed he and Pikachu were perfect partners. They fought in sync, always seemed to know what the other was thinking, and—at least in his imagination—were invincible.
But Sakaki shattered that fragile confidence into dust.
Beedrill used Protect!
Pikachu used Iron Tail—blocked!
Beedrill scattered Toxic Spikes! The battlefield shimmered with a deadly violet gleam—Pikachu poisoned!
Beedrill used Agility—its movements blurred, wings cutting through the air like razors!
Pikachu used Thunderbolt—but Beedrill darted aside with ease!
It was as if Sakaki could read the future. Every time Pikachu attacked, Beedrill was already one step ahead. And Sakaki didn't even hide it—each time he shouted a command, his voice rang out boldly, almost taunting Vilde, daring him to know what was coming next.
Even so, Pikachu couldn't land a single decisive blow.
Beedrill used String Shot! Threads of silk lashed out, binding Pikachu tight.
Beedrill used Venoshock! The poisoned spikes amplified the attack, a burst of noxious energy engulfing Pikachu—
—and in an instant, Pikachu collapsed, unmoving.
"Pikachu!"
Vilde's heart lurched. He bolted forward, scooping the limp creature into his arms. His mind went blank. What now? He didn't know any healing magic, and every potion he'd had was long spent.
A cold wave of helplessness washed over him. He had never felt this powerless.
"Use this."
Wade—or rather, Sakaki—appeared in front of him without warning, tossing over a strange little bottle shaped like no flask Vilde had ever seen.
"…What is it?"
"A potion. Spray it on your injured Pokémon—like this."
He pressed the nozzle, releasing a fine mist over Pikachu's body. To Vilde's shock, the little creature stirred after only a few moments, eyes fluttering open weakly.
"See? All better."
Vilde froze, staring. Then, wordlessly, he hugged Pikachu against his chest. Relief rushed through him, threatening to unman him. After a long silence, he managed to croak out, "…Thank you."
The contradiction gnawed at him—this man had crushed Pikachu without mercy, then saved it with something miraculous. What was his real purpose?
But one thing Vilde understood: Sakaki had been holding back. Even that restrained display made his unmatched skill obvious. Beedrill's strength was terrifying, far beyond anything Vilde could imagine countering.
No matter how furious he felt, he wasn't reckless enough to provoke someone like this. Nobles prided themselves on building networks, and the Bedford family especially relied on business ties to survive. His arrogance came from never meeting someone he couldn't sneer down at—until today.
Still, one grievance burned inside him:
Your Beedrill is strong, fine—but what the hell does that have to do with Caterpie?! Don't tell me you're about to spout something like, "There are no weak bugs, only weak trainers!" And trainers—what even is that supposed to mean? Sounds like nothing more than glorified beast taming to me.
Even if I were the greatest tamer alive, there's no way a Caterpie could beat a Beedrill!
Wade, unimpressed, gave a slight nod. "I don't know why Pikachu chose you, but as a trainer, you've got a long way to go. Until you grow stronger, you'll never draw out a Pokémon's true potential."
"I've had my fill of battles for today. Until next time."
With a casual wave, he recalled Beedrill into its Poké Ball.
"Wait—please!" Vilde blurted out, desperate.
"You clearly know so much about creatures like Pikachu. Could you tell me—what exactly is a Pokémon? What's a trainer? And why can these creatures understand humans?"
"Too many questions," Wade said, feigning boredom as he picked idly at his ear.
"I'll pay you for your time!" Vilde blurted. "When you leave the dungeon, could you visit my family estate?"
He guessed the dungeon's time limit was nearly up—this might be his last chance.
"Forget your estate. I don't waste time wandering around."
A faint smile crossed Wade's lips. "It's getting late. If you want answers about Pikachu, come back here. I'll be around. If you want to find me, just have Pikachu use Discharge."
"Ah… okay…"
Before Vilde could say more, a deep toll of bells echoed through the dungeon, reverberating in his bones. His vision swam, his body twisted as though caught in a whirlpool—and then suddenly, he was outside.
"Ah… I made it out alive."
He pinched his cheek, hardly daring to believe it.
But the warm weight of Pikachu curled against his chest was all too real.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—did I really bring it out with me?!"
(***)
Elsewhere, Wade let his disguise fade, returning to his undead form. He set Beedrill's Poké Ball on the table, grinning to himself.
His conclusion?
Messing with noobs is far too fun.
"Wade, oh Wade," he muttered mockingly at himself. "Bullying newbies—have you really fallen this far? And you still call yourself a man of integrity?"
Then he snorted, shoulders shaking.
Hehehehe… of course. That's exactly who I am. Trolling is fun once—but keep doing it, and it stays fun forever.
He'd already hooked Vilde's curiosity. There was no way the man wouldn't come back. And when he did, word would spread—about these strange, intelligent monsters called Pokémon. Soon, more adventurers would flood into the dungeon. More bodies meant more Mana.
Speaking of which…
Today's Mana intake had been lower than yesterday's.
The weak no longer dared set foot inside, and even the miners were losing heart. If they kept dying off like this, he might need to bribe them with higher wages.
Finally, Wade understood what they were after: an ore unique to Sein Dungeon, called Blood Crystal.
The problem was—it couldn't be converted into Mana. No matter how he reshaped terrain, it was useless to him. He'd been dumping the excess in the lower mines just to be rid of it, never expecting outsiders to covet the stuff.
So tonight's plan was to redistribute it, scattering Blood Crystals deeper inside the dungeon. That way, the miners would be lured further down.
At the same time, traps and monster spawns needed adjustment. He had his eyes on several new "toys," and today's Mana earnings were just enough to cover them.
Honestly, the dungeon's income was impressive—but between constant repairs, maintenance, new summons, and gimmicks, it was always the same old headache:
Where the hell did all the Mana go?
He needed more people. More bodies. More death.
"Let's hope the arrangements I made earlier pay off…"
Weapons with built-in skills, new monster species, shifting terrain—once word spread, thrill-seekers would come in droves.
(***)
Late at night, in a narrow alley of Bedford City.
"Jack… I finally caught you."
The alley reeked of stale ale and damp stone. Several burly thugs emerged from the shadows, blocking every path. Jack stumbled back, heart hammering—only to find himself cornered against a dead wall.
And at their head stood the one man he least wanted to see.
Kezman.
"G-good evening… have you eaten yet?"
Jack forced out a weak laugh, his voice trembling.