According to Tapu Lele, there were originally twenty-five Trainers on Alaka Island. Eleven had died early on, and now another three from Babath had just died. That meant only eleven Trainers remained.
Right now, four were standing in front of him. Including himself, that meant there were six others still somewhere on the island.
Julian asked the four about their knowledge of the island and whether they had encountered trainers from other nations.
The four didn't know much about the island's layout. Even though they'd been here for almost two months, their lack of strength had prevented them from fully exploring it.
They had run into other foreign Trainers, but neither side made a move, and both had withdrawn peacefully.
"Honorable sir from Drakoria, this is all we know…" said the Trainer from Small Country A, trembling slightly. At first, he had felt relieved knowing Julian was from Drakoria, but then he noticed two corpses lying not far away.
Along with several Pokémon carcasses.
The decapitated head of a Flygon, its lifeless eyes staring straight at them, sent a chill down his spine.
That was enough to change his perception of Julian—if they didn't cooperate, this man might just kill them on the spot.
The other three also noticed the dead trainers and Pokémon. Even the two Trainers from Pannar began to worry that their "big brother" might silence them.
Julian easily picked up on their fearful auras, and judging by where they were looking, he could guess what was running through their minds.
"Alright, you can leave, and take those corpses with you."
Julian waved his hand dismissively, gesturing at the Pokémon remains.
"R-Really? T-Thank you, noble sir from Drakoria!"
The Trainer from Small Country B was overjoyed.
The two Pannar Trainers also looked at Julian with gratitude, reassured that their "big brother" was still as generous as ever—though they were a little annoyed that these two outsiders were benefiting as well.
Julian had no interest in the corpses of Elite-tier Pokémon, but on the outside, they could fetch a hefty price.
The flesh, bones, organs, and other parts of Elite-tier Pokémon could all be processed into medicine, and certain body parts, if consumed by Pokémon of the same type, could enhance their abilities.
For example, a Poison-type Pokémon could devour high-grade poison sacs to strengthen their toxins.
Dragon-types could absorb the blood of their kind to purify and strengthen their own lineage.
So these Pokémon corpses were like treasure to the four.
While collecting the bodies, the group finally saw who the two human corpses were.
'Oh… they're from Babath.'
Well, that's fine then.
Babath's reputation on the international stage was notoriously bad.
They relied on having a powerful "big brother" and their own considerable strength, bullying many other countries along the way. There was no shortage of nations who had been mistreated by them.
The four trainers left with their loot, and Julian summoned Moltres, hopping onto its back without a second thought.
He ignored the frantic shaking of Dragonite's Poké Ball.
Dragonite: 'My status as the primary mount is under threat...'
In terms of sheer style points, Moltres was undeniably cooler—after all, it was a legendary Pokémon, wreathed in flames, special effects maxed out.
In the outside world, Moltres was even nicknamed the "Phoenix".
Metagross floated behind Julian, staring at him silently.
After flying for a while, Julian finally couldn't take it anymore. He turned his head and snapped at Metagross: "Why the hell are you staring at me like that?!"
That judgmental gaze was like needles on his back, making him deeply uncomfortable.
Metagross: "The new bird gets all the love, while the old dragon weeps unnoticed."
The Poké Ball on his waist containing Dragonite shook violently in agreement—it was the old dragon.
"Moltres is new. Let it handle the grunt work of carrying me," Julian explained.
Besides looking cool, riding Moltres was also a way to bond and build trust with it.
To be honest, catching Moltres had been completely unexpected.
He'd already chosen Dragon as his secondary type, so going forward, he had planned to only take in Steel- or Dragon-type Pokémon.
But when a pseudo-Champion Moltres literally threw itself at him… well, no trainer in their right mind would refuse.
Not him, not his grandpa John, not even Duke—nobody.
Seriously, what kind of idiot says no to a legendary Pokémon?
Julian directed Moltres to fly over to the pond—the same one where the Bruxish had been.
The environment there was quite good, and after everything he'd done today, he decided to just set up camp there again.
The Bruxish leader had assumed that Julian had left for good, and that its territory was back under its control.
But barely a few days later, he was back.
And he came back riding a freaking Moltres—radiating the oppressive aura of a pseudo-Champion, which instantly scared all its little underlings back into the water.
'Nope nope nope, not messing with that.'
The Bruxish leader had seen Moltres before, since the fiery bird liked to wander all around the island. But it had never expected this guy to actually 'tame' Moltres.
If it knew that Moltres had basically 'offered itself', it would probably be so shocked its jaw would fall off.
Back by the pond, there were still traces of his previous campsite. Even the old tent he'd left behind was still there.
Although, it had now become tattered and broken—probably messed up by some wild Pokémon.
Moltres strutted around on its slender legs, taking in the surroundings with curiosity. When it spotted the waterfall, a look of realization appeared in its eyes—so 'this' was the place.
Since it usually soared high in the sky and rarely landed, it wasn't all that familiar with the terrain on the ground.
Julian pulled out an ice-cold cola and took a long sip. He hadn't had a single drink of water since earlier.
Slowking: 'So why don't you just drink water...?'
Noticing Moltres eyeing his soda with interest, Julian shook his head. "This stuff isn't for birds. And besides, you don't really 'need' to drink."
Technically, Moltres did need water—just extremely rarely. It could go years, even decades, without a single sip.
After finishing the can, Julian casually crumpled it and tossed it aside.
Finishing a can of cola and then crushing it before tossing it away—that's just basic respect for soda etiquette.
Moltres, like an overgrown, fiery Husky, walked over to inspect the flattened can, poking at it with its beak.
To a Pokémon raised in a secret realm, human-world items always held a strong sense of novelty and fascination.
Julian wasn't even surprised anymore.
Back when Steelix and Gible first left the secret realm for the outside world, they'd spent days acting like wide-eyed toddlers.
Gible had once nearly stuck its entire head into a toilet bowl, trying to drink from it. Thankfully, Julian caught it in time—otherwise, the poor thing would've been forever unclean.
That incident had since become what Gabite now considered the biggest shame of its life.
If Julian wasn't its trainer, it would've committed murder to erase the evidence.
*****
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