Finn had always thought medieval fantasy looked cool in movies. Knights in shining armor, cozy taverns with roaring fires, romantic castle life. What the movies never showed was how absolutely, bone-chillingly, miserably cold everything was.
He'd spent the entire night shivering like a chihuahua in a snowstorm.
This is bullshit, he thought, teeth chattering as he huddled under his thin woolen blanket. Where's the central heating? Where are the space heaters? Hell, where's the basic insulation?
The wooden walls of his cottage might as well have been made of paper. Every gust of wind found its way through gaps in the timber, turning his supposed shelter into a medieval freezer. The fire had died to cold ash hours ago… he had burned through his meager woodpile faster than expected.
Note to self: collect more firewood. A lot more firewood.
By dawn, he was ready to murder someone for a cup of coffee and a heated blanket. Instead, he got more cold, a rumbling stomach, and the lovely aroma of leftover Ursaring meat slowly stiffening in the corner.
"Right," he muttered, dragging himself upright. "Breakfast first. Then figure out why my blanket smells like wet dog and death."
The Ursaring meat hung in thin strips from a makeshift rack he'd rigged up near the fireplace the night before. Even while feeling conflicted about eating the thing, he'd known he had to preserve it. It wasn't perfectly dried yet, but it was getting there, and more importantly, it wouldn't spoil as quickly as the raw chunks would have.
His stomach cramped with hunger as he looked at the strips. This body felt like it hadn't eaten a proper meal in weeks.
He took down one of the better-dried pieces and held it over the fire to warm it up, trying not to think about what he was doing. The meat sizzled slightly, releasing a smoky aroma that made his mouth water unexpectedly.
This thing was eating people yesterday, he reminded himself as he tore off a bite. Those same jaws that tore apart that villager...
But the moment the meat hit his tongue, all rational thought evaporated.
Hory shit.
The flavor exploded across his palate like a symphony of umami. Rich, complex, with layers of taste that seemed to unfold one after another. The texture was perfect… tender enough to chew easily but with just enough resistance to feel substantial. It was like eating liquid silk infused with the essence of the finest steakhouse he'd ever visited.
This is better than wagyu, he thought in stunned disbelief, tearing off another piece with growing enthusiasm. This is better than that two-hundred-dollar A5 steak I had for my birthday last year.
The meat practically melted in his mouth, releasing bursts of flavor that made his taste buds sing. There was a subtle smokiness from the drying process, but underneath was something indescribably rich and satisfying. His body seemed to absorb every molecule with desperate gratitude.
If Ursaring tastes this good, his brain began calculating, completely forgetting about the whole "human-eating" moral dilemma, what about other Pokemon? What does Tauros Taco taste like? Or Miltank? Hell, what about the rare ones?
He was already mentally cataloging the Pokemon he'd seen in games and anime, ranking them by potential deliciousness. Torchic would probably be like the world's best chicken. And Magikarp... God, if it tastes anything like this, it'd be worth its weight in gold.
Twenty minutes later, he'd devoured three strips and was eyeing the rest with the intensity of a man discovering religion. His previous life's expensive restaurant experiences suddenly felt like eating cardboard in comparison.
Screw moral qualms, he decided, reaching for another strip. If this is what survival tastes like, I'm going to survive the hell out of this world.
Now for the hide problem.
He approached the Ursaring pelt with the caution of someone handling a biohazard. The thing was massive, thick, and absolutely reeked. Worse, it was stiff as a board. Obviously, raw hide didn't magically transform into soft blankets overnight.
He poked the hide experimentally. It felt like leather armor that had been left in the rain for a month. There's got to be someone in this village who knows how to make this not terrible.
Instead of just idling around, Finn took the pelt and decided to see if he can do something with it within the village.
The village looked different in daylight. Stone foundations, timber walls, thatched roofs that had seen better decades. Smoke drifted from chimneys, and the smell of cooking food made his mouth water despite the Ursaring breakfast.
People were already up and working. A blacksmith hammered at his forge, sending sparks into the morning air. Women tended vegetable gardens behind their homes. Children ran around with sticks, playing some game that involved a lot of yelling and mock sword fighting.
Normal life. They're just... living normally after yesterday's massacre.
It was both impressive and disturbing how quickly people here moved past trauma. But then again, if Pokemon attacks happened every few months, you probably learned to cope or went insane.
"Looking for something, Finn?"
He turned to find Mira approaching, carrying a wicker basket filled with what looked like herbs. She'd cleaned up since yesterday. There's no more blood stains, her auburn hair neatly braided. In daylight, she looked younger than he'd initially thought, maybe mid-to-late teens.
"Actually, yeah," Finn replied, hoisting the stiff hide higher on his shoulder. "I need someone who knows how to treat leather. This thing's about as useful as a wooden sword right now."
Mira glanced at the pelt and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, you didn't cure it properly. It's going to rot if you leave it like that." She paused, thinking. "My father knows how to treat hides. Most folks here do the basics themselves. But something that thick..." She shook her head. "That's going to need proper treatment, not just the simple stuff we do for small beast pelts."
"What kind of cost?" Finn asked, suddenly realizing he had no idea what passed for currency here.
"Time, mostly. It's backbreaking work… scraping, soaking in different solutions, stretching, more scraping." Mira counted off on her fingers. "It takes about a week of solid labor if you know what you're doing."
A week of manual labor? Finn immediately started looking for alternatives. There's got to be an easier way. Maybe I can trade something else for it? Or find someone who's already good at it and convince them to do the work?
"Actually," Mira continued, a calculating look entering her eyes, "I could ask my father to help you. He's one of the best at hide treatment in the village." She paused, letting that sink in. "But I'd want something in return."
"What kind of something?" Finn asked warily.
"Your time." Mira's expression became surprisingly serious. "I need a suitor, Finn. I'm seventeen, and my parents are starting to make noises about arranging a marriage with someone from Millhaven or Ironbrook." She crossed her arms. "I'd rather try my luck with someone local first. Someone I actually know."
Finn blinked. Is she... blackmailing me into courting her?
"So here's the deal," Mira continued matter-of-factly. "You spend time with me. Proper courting, not just nodding hello in the village square, and I'll convince my father to treat your hide properly. No backbreaking labor for you, and I get to tell my parents I'm exploring local options."
Finn looked at her for a long moment, then at the stinking hide on his shoulder, then back at her expectant face.
"Uh..." Finn felt his brain stutter. The way she was looking at him, all determined and slightly pushy…was actually kind of... cute? Wait, no. Focus. This sounds like a lot of work.
"Yeah, I'm gonna have to pass on that," he said, taking a step back.
Mira's confident expression faltered, then immediately shifted into something more dangerous. "Pass? On what part exactly?" She stepped closer, backing him toward a wooden fence. "The free leather treatment, or spending time with the prettiest girl in the village?"
Oh shit, she's not giving up. Finn found himself pressed against the fence as Mira planted her hands on either side of him, effectively trapping him.
"Come on, Finn," she said with a sweet smile that somehow managed to be both adorable and terrifying. "It's not like I'm asking you to marry me tomorrow. Just... hang around. Talk to me. Let people see us together. Easy, right?"
"I, uh..." Finn's lazy brain was screaming warnings. This girl was trouble. Cute trouble, but still trouble. "Look, I really don't need the hide treated that badly—"
"Oh, but you do," Mira interrupted, leaning closer. "Winter's coming, and that raw hide is going to turn into a stinking, rotting mess in about three days. Then you'll have nothing but the memory of a perfectly good Ursaring pelt."
Damn it, she has a point.
"Plus," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "my father makes the best leather goods in three villages. You'd be getting premium treatment. For free."
Finn looked into her determined brown eyes and felt his resolve cracking. Then his survival instincts kicked in. Not the 'avoid danger' kind, but the 'avoid complicated social situations that require effort' kind.
"You know what? I'm just gonna..." He ducked under her arm and made a break for it. "Go talk to the chief! About... chief things! Bye!"
"Finn!" Mira called after him, sounding more amused than upset. "You can't run forever! This village isn't that big!"
Watch me, he thought, speed-walking toward the village center like his life depended on it. I'd rather freeze to death than deal with whatever that was.
Okay, priorities, Finn told himself as he made his way through the village. His goal for now… is to not freeze to death tonight.
The raw Ursaring hide was heavy and awkward to carry, but if he could trade it for a proper blanket or cloak, he'd consider it worth the hassle. After asking directions from a woman hanging laundry, he headed toward Chief Aldric's residence near the village center.
But as he approached the chief's house, he found himself facing an unexpected crowd. A group of rough-looking men with bows slung across their backs had gathered in the small square, and the ground around them was littered with Pokemon corpses.
Finn's eyes widened as he took in the haul. Three Poochyena, their dark fur matted with blood, lay in a neat row. Beside them was what looked like a Zigzagoon, its normally brown and cream fur stained dark red. Most impressively, a massive Mightyena, easily the size of a wolf, dominated the center of the display.
Village hunters, Finn realized.
The hunters themselves looked like they knew their business. Leather armor reinforced with metal studs, proper hunting bows instead of improvised weapons, and knives that had clearly seen regular use. These weren't farmers who occasionally had to fight for their lives.
And I'm standing here holding the pelt of something bigger than anything they brought back.
Knowing no shame whatsoever, Finn pushed through the small crowd of villagers who'd gathered to see the hunters' return. If there was ever a time to trade his Ursaring hide, this was it.
"Excuse me," he called out to the nearest hunter, a grizzled man with a gray beard and scars crossing his left cheek. "I've got something to trade."