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The water's surface returned to tranquility, leaving only a few faint ripples and the final, unwilling echoes of the Seaking that had been retracted into its Poké Ball.
The mist seemed even thicker than before, carrying the salty tang of a water battle and a faint, lingering scent of scorched energy.
The intern Masaki's detector was still lit; on the screen, the data for the Level 49 Greninja sat side-by-side with that of the Level 50 Seaking from moments ago, looking like a silent mockery.
"This shouldn't be possible, right?"
He muttered subconsciously, his eyes behind his glasses staring fixedly at Ariel's excessively calm face.
In his textbooks, in his mentor's lectures, every part of the knowledge system he took pride in told him that this was impossible.
Between Superior Level and Gym Leader Level, the difference wasn't just one level—it was a chasm.
The qualitative change in energy, the understanding of skills, the combat experience—it was a total, all-around crushing advantage.
Normally, a Gym Leader Level Pokémon, even in poor condition, should be able to hold off four or five Superior Level opponents with ease.
But what had he just seen?
An instant kill.
A complete, unreasonable instant kill.
That Greninja's movements were so fast his eyes couldn't keep up; the transition between Double Team and Quick Attack was seamless, with no wasted motion, every strike hitting exactly where it hurt the Seaking most.
The final Water Shuriken was precise to a terrifying degree.
This wasn't a battle; it was a slaughter.
Masaki felt as if his worldview was being rubbed into the ground repeatedly; he even began to suspect if this latest model detector from Devon Corporation was malfunctioning.
"Ariel..."
Beside him, Tome suddenly let out a very soft murmur, as if she had remembered something but wasn't quite sure.
She wasn't as obsessed with data and theory as Masaki; as an intern who had just finished her internship at the Rock Gym, what flashed through her mind was Gym Leader Roxanne's serious yet somewhat appreciative face.
It was during a casual chat after an internship session when Gym Leader Roxanne had rarely mentioned a peer.
"A very interesting fellow has appeared in Hoenn, specializing in the Dark-type, about the same age as us... his strength is incredibly unreasonable."
How had Gym Leader Roxanne described him back then?
Oh, right.
"His Pokémon don't seem to have such a thing as level barriers."
At the time, Tome had just taken it as the Gym Leader's exaggerated praise for a genius, but thinking back now, those words and the scene before her eyes aligned perfectly.
Specializes in Dark-type... same age as us... named Ariel...
"Ariel!"
Tome finally remembered the full name; she subconsciously covered her small mouth, her gaze toward Ariel changing completely.
It shifted from viewing him as a companion with some background to viewing him as a legendary figure.
Indeed, because of Steven's attitude toward Ariel, Tome had been predisposed to believe Ariel was a scion of a major family.
"It seems Gym Leader Roxanne has a very high opinion of you."
Steven's gentle laughter broke the silence.
He had been leaning against Lapras's neck from start to finish, his posture relaxed, as if that intense battle just now was merely an insignificant appetizer.
The way he looked at the two interns carried a hint of amusement, like looking at his own juniors.
Ariel simply waved his hand casually, playing with the newly acquired, still slightly vibrating Poké Ball.
"I didn't expect Roxanne to think so highly of me either."
He spoke casually, but in his mind, he was silently calculating.
One Gym Leader Level Pokémon acquired.
Nine more to go for the target.
The start was smooth; at this rate, there should be plenty of gains in this area of Mt. Pyre.
Though this thick fog was a hindrance, it also acted as a natural umbrella for wild Pokémon, allowing many powerful individuals to reside here peacefully.
To him, this fog was instead the best hunting ground.
Just then, a faint but rapid sound of rowing came from deep within the thick mist.
The sound approached from afar, carrying a sense of panic from a struggle for survival.
Soon, the silhouette of a dilapidated Tome boat emerged from the fog, its bow nearly brushing against Lapras's body as it passed.
Four people were squeezed onto the boat; a dark-skinned boatman was gritting his teeth, using all his strength to pull the oars, muscles bulging on his exposed arms, but the cold sweat on his forehead and heavy panting betrayed his exhaustion.
The other two on the boat looked like Trainers based on their clothing, and they also looked battered; the few Pokémon beside them were listless, some even bearing visible wounds.
But the most eye-catching was a girl lying in the cabin.
She wasn't very old, her face was as pale as paper, her eyes were tightly shut, and her brow was furrowed in pain.
One of her legs was stretched out; on her snow-white thigh, a hideous wound was shocking to behold.
The wound had been crudely bandaged, but dark red blood had completely soaked through the bandage and was still dripping down, pooling into a small, viscous puddle on the dim deck.
The source of that faint scent of blood in the air had been found.
"Please! I beg of you!"
A male Trainer on the boat, seeing Steven's group on Lapras's back, acted as if he had caught a life-saving straw and pleaded hoarsely:
"Our boat was attacked by a Gyarados in the fog! Yale is seriously injured, we must get to the supply point on the opposite shore immediately! Please, use your Lapras to give us a lift!"
His tone was full of urgency and entreaty, his eyes moving back and forth between the girl's wound and Lapras.
Steven's gaze fell on the girl's wound, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Come up."
He didn't hesitate for a second and agreed immediately.
Masaki and Tome also snapped back from their earlier shock; they were, after all, interns handpicked by Devon Corporation, and they immediately displayed excellent professional conduct.
"Be careful, don't touch her wound."
"I'll support her leg!"
The two of them coordinated with the Trainers on the boat, carefully lifting the girl named Yale from the swaying small boat onto Lapras's broad and stable back.
During the entire process, Ariel just watched quietly; his gaze lingered for a moment on the girl's deep, bone-exposing wound, then he moved it away nonchalantly.
A very deep wound, and very crudely handled; if the bleeding wasn't stopped soon, that leg would be in trouble even if they reached the supply point.
Lapras let out a low, gentle cry, carrying the new passengers as it turned and began to accelerate steadily toward the shore of Mt. Pyre.
The thick fog closed behind them, swallowing the lonely little boat once more.