Some part of her wanted to scold him.

  What he did was reckless, stupid—even downright moronic. The kind of stunt people told stories about later, the kind that ended with and so the idiot trainer became food. Because when Myst did something unsafe, of course he didn’t just break one rule you followed around wild Pokémon.

  No. That would’ve been too small.

  He had to break all of them at once.

  No sudden movements.

  No loud noises.

  No approaching Pokémon with children.

  Myst had sprinted, shouted, and closed the distance on a Leavanny holding what was, for all intents and purposes, its princess. In the middle of a standoff. In front of Rangers. The only reason he was even alive was probably just a fragile combination of luck—and the fact that the Captain hadn’t yet handed over the Poké Ball containing the tribe’s leader.

  She forced down the surge of rage and fear clawing up her throat, pressing it back where it belonged. She wanted to yell, but it wasn’t the time or the place.

  Later, she would yell. Later, she would shake him and demand to know what he’d been thinking.

  For now…

  Her eyes moved away from the ground and to just ahead, where Myst stalked forward.

  She hadn’t seen his face in a while, but she was fairly sure she didn’t need to. His mouth was probably still set in a tight line, his brows drawn together in that familiar, stubborn way. After all, even when they’d released their Pokémon, his expression hadn’t so much as twitched. She doubted half an hour would change anything.

  Then again, she didn’t really need to guess in the first place. If anything had changed, she was almost certain Navi would have relaxed at least a little. But judging by the way she was still buzzing around him like a frantic bumblebee, nothing had.

  Cynthia fell into step beside him.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked simply.

  Myst glanced at her.

  “Fine,” he said after a beat.

  She gave him a flat look.

  Myst didn’t even bother with one of his fake smiles.

  “Okay—maybe not fine,” he admitted. “That freaking sucked. I kept saying I wanted her back with her family, but… yeah. In hindsight, I should’ve asked if she wanted the same.” He sighed, rubbing at his face. “If nothing else, the Leavanny gave me a clear goal.”

  “…Beating the Majesty, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. And considering we were planning on doing that anyway, I’m basically fine.”

  A low, rough huff cut in before Cynthia could respond.

  Myst paused, then looked at her side, raising an eyebrow.

  “I can’t even be basically fine?”

  Queenie’s slit yellow eyes stared back at him with a level of unimpressed judgment Cynthia doubted she’d ever reach.

  “Gabite Gabite Gabite.” She said simply.

  You cried for hours when you thought Rei felt left out after a Gym.

  Myst held her gaze for a couple of seconds, then looked away.

  “Point,” he muttered. He exhaled. “Okay—so maybe I’m not even basically fine. But I don’t think how fine I am really matters right now.” He glanced ahead, jaw setting. “I can deal with being frustrated later. For now, let’s focus on being good little foot soldiers, yeah?”

  Cynthia studied him for a few seconds, weighing whether she wanted to fight him on it now. Then, once again, she settled firmly on later. So instead of pressing the issue, she let out a small sigh, lifted her head, and stared through the treetops at the mountain wall they were moving toward.

  Crossing Mount Coronet was supposed to take four days if you moved slowly. They’d been inside for more than a week now—and today was the first time she could honestly say they were getting close to the exit. All that stood between her and daylight was about two hours of walking, four elite-level Pokémon, and one Majesty empowered by some kind of Legendary relic.

  Piece of cake, really.

  …

  Cynthia forced herself to breathe through her mouth.

  At first, it hadn’t been hard to ignore, just the air growing a little sweeter. The clean scents of flowers blooming, the soft green note of crushed leaves underfoot. Pleasant. Almost comforting. But the deeper they went, the sweetness layered and thickened, until it stopped smelling natural.

  And now?

  The smell was sickening—too thick and heavy, like a dozen flowers pressed into her face at once. Worse, each breath through her nose left a nectar-like taste on her tongue, rich enough that some part of her wanted to scratch at it.

  “Can’t we just start fighting?” one of the trainers complained, just loud enough that she could hear it from a couple of meters away.

  Cynthia hated how much she agreed.

  She took another breath, forced herself to ignore the scent and lifted her head.

  The forest ended abruptly right where they stood—as if cut away by a single, decisive stroke. Beyond it lay white: an unbroken field of pale flowers swallowing every inch of ground in layered petals, so dense that you couldn’t see a single piece of grass underneath.

  Some part of her wanted to find it beautiful, but the sight was overwhelming in its excess—flower piled upon flower until it all washed out. Like Floaroma Town in full bloom, but garish, stripped of any sense of restraint.

  Just… too much.

  She let her eyes continue to move, until it reached the edge. Not just of the field, but of Mount Coronet. For all the Grass Kingdom’s seemingly limitless power to reshape the land, it had failed here. The ancient mountain walls of Mount Coronet rose vertically from the earth, sheer and imposing, their bare stone unmarred by even the slightest imperfection.

  She paused.

  Or, well, maybe saying they failed was a little much.

  Her gaze settled on the break in the stone: the mouth of the tunnel that led to Route 208.

  When people had said the exit was blocked, she’d imagined they meant the Grass Kingdom itself stood in the way—that something like the Trevenant Forest, perhaps guarded by another Royal Guard, barred passage.

  But that wasn’t it.

  No, they were being completely literal.

  For all that the tunnel opening was gigantic, easily seventy meters high before it tapered off into darkness, it was also sealed so completely that she doubted she could see more than a few meters inside.

  A towering mass of green smothered the opening, a barricade of vines packed so tightly they formed a wall. Thick strands lay anchored into the tunnel walls, each as wide as a large tree trunk, crossing and overlapping in heavy, load-bearing layers. They pressed against one another with crushing density, flattened where immense weight bore down, their sheer bulk filling the opening from floor to ceiling.

  Cynthia let her gaze linger—then forced herself to look away.

  In the end, for as awe-inspiring the walls were, for how intimidating the seal was, neither was the reason why she had walked up to the edge of the forest again.

  Instead, she followed the gazes of William and the Captain down to the base of the vines, where four figures stood stark against the white field beyond. Two of them nearly blended into the mass of green, their forms swallowed by layered growth. The other two stood out in sharp contrast—bright pink shapes that caught the eye immediately.

  The Royal Guard.

  Cynthia squinted, trying to make out more detail.

  At this distance, it was hard to tell where the vines ended and the Pokémon began. The larger of the two green ones honestly almost looked like a small tree, and the only reason she didn’t mistake it for one outright was an odd mix of recently developed paranoia about tree-like Pokémon—and the simple fact that a lone tree standing in the middle of a sea of white flowers would have been… strange.

  As for the other green one?

  It was smaller. Shorter. Compact in a way that made it hard to see at this distance. The only immediately obvious feature was its head—red, vivid, standing out sharply against the surrounding green.

  Cynthia frowned.

  She recognized neither of them.

  For some reason, that rubbed her the wrong way.

  Normally, she could rattle off a dozen facts about any Pokémon she encountered without even thinking about it—but ever since they’d entered the Grass Kingdom, she’d run into more unfamiliar species than she could count.

  She knew why, of course.

  Or, well, she had a very educated guess, at least.

  They came from the Underground, a place where species from other regions were, if not common, then certainly not rare either.

  Still, the lack of knowledge burned.

  She tore her gaze away from the green figures and focused instead on the pink ones.

  Compared to the green ones, they were easier to read. Both were clearly the same species, and their bright coloration stood out sharply against the green backdrop of vines, making their details easier to pick out even at this distance. Insect-like, definitely—they almost reminded her of pink Leavanny. Their bodies shared the same tall, slender proportions, though instead of leaves, they were framed by petal-like shapes that draped around them.

  Elegant.

  Almost ceremonial.

  For a fleeting moment, the thought struck her that they looked like they were wearing something akin to traditional Johtonian dress—long, flowing, formal.

  “You recognize them?” Johanna’s voice cut in, light but curious.

  Cynthia turned to find her standing nearby with a small, hopeful smile, Sassy and Midna flanking her on one side, William on the other.

  He raised an eyebrow when she didn’t answer.

  “Well?”

  “…No,” Cynthia admitted.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t sound so torn up about it—welcome to the club,” he said dryly, then shook his head. “No worries, though. Figured it was a long shot anyway. We’ll just have to wing it—decide who fights who as we go.”

  He glanced back toward the four figures.

  “Honestly, the fact that they’re just standing there and giving us any time at all is already more than we could’ve asked for. Recognizing them on sight?” He shrugged. “I ain’t that lucky.”

  Cynthia paused at his tone, glancing at Johanna.

  “…Myst didn’t know?”

  William blinked, before she could answer.

  “Why would he?” He tilted his head slightly. “No offense, but I asked you because your grandmother is a professor. There was a chance she might have access to information the Ranger archives don’t—through academic contacts, research circles, that kind of thing.”

  He exhaled.

  “But even that was a long shot. The Rangers probably maintain the most comprehensive documentation on wild Pokémon in the world—we share data across regions, after all. Even comparing a large clan’s archives to the Ranger archives is like comparing a bookshelf to a library.”

  His eyes returned to the four figures, expression flat.

  “So what are the chances he just happens to know about four Pokémon rare enough that we don’t have any information on them at all?”

  Cynthia didn’t bother answering the rhetorical question. She just kept staring.

  Johanna’s expression crumbled slightly.

  Cynthia sighed.

  “Honestly?” she said dryly. “About a hundred percent.”

  She glanced over at him. “Myst, I need you for a second.”

  He looked up from where he’d been talking to Flint and Volkner, said something to them, then headed over with quick steps.

  “What’s up? We ready?” he asked, the questions tumbling out one after the other, expression almost hopeful.

  Cynthia just pointed toward the four figures in the distance.

  He paused, lifting an eyebrow.

  She didn’t bother saying anything.

  He blinked.

  “Oh—right,” he turned towards them.

  “…Okay. The two pink ones are definitely Lurantis,” he said after barely a second. “Pure Grass-types from Alola. If I had to choose, I’d probably categorize them as close-combat fighters more than anything else.”

  His gaze shifted immediately.

  “As for the tree-like one—that’s Arboliva. Grass–Normal type. I think I mentioned it when we talked about Pokémon that can set Grassy Terrain through abilities. It’s usually a pure ranged attacker, it’s natural move set barely even containing physical moves.”

  He frowned, focusing on the last figure.

  “And the other green one…” He squinted. “Not sure. I mean, red head does narrow it down, but not really enough. Probably not a Bellossom, could be Flapple…” He paused, lifting a hand to shade his eyes from a sun that didn’t exist. “Nope. Too small. Could be a lot of things. Can’t tell from here.”

  He turned back to her.

  “Anyway, that’s what you wanted to know, right?” he said, before continuing, not waiting for an answer. “Because I’m kind of wondering—any idea what’s causing this freaky scent? It feels like someone stacked a million Sweet Scents on top of each other.”

  William just stared at him for a couple of seconds, then slowly opened his mouth.

  “…Do you want to borrow my binoculars?”

  Myst blinked.

  “Wait. You had binoculars?”

  William didn’t bother responding. He just held them out.

  Myst took them without hesitation, lifted them to his eyes—and immediately spoke.

  “Never mind the Flapple idea. It’s a Scovillain.” He paused. “Can’t say much about how it fights—total mixed bag. Oh, and it’s Fire–Grass. From Paldea.”

  He lowered the binoculars slightly, squinting.

  “…Also, it’s a lot smaller than I thought it’d be. I’m pretty sure Lurantis are supposed to be about the same size, but this one barely comes up to their waist.”

  Cynthia didn’t bother saying anything as he turned back. She just shot William a victorious smile at his stunned expression.

  Would she have liked being the one spouting off that knowledge? Of course.

  But at the same time, if she couldn’t?

  Well—having Myst do it instead, and getting to watch someone else be thoroughly stunlocked…

  Almost as satisfying.

  William licked his lips.

  “Okay, very interesting… would you mind repeating that to the captain?”

  Myst nodded easily.

  “No problem.”

  William didn’t hesitate, just turned on his heels and started walking, Johanna following him seemingly instinctively.

  Myst paused for a moment, glancing down at her.

  “Pointing huh?” he said with a small smirk.

  “Just training silent communication. Johanna said a boyfriend needs to know these things.” She said shamelessly.

  He gave her another lifted eyebrow but then shook his head and simply started to follow William and Johanna.

  Cynthia watched his back as he went—and felt herself relax, just a little.

  She wouldn’t lie to herself. She had been worried about him. But seeing him now, she felt more confident that he wasn’t about to do anything reckless.

  She glanced behind herself, letting her eyes linger on the four figures in the distance, then followed him.

  After all, this was going to be dangerous enough already.

  …

  The original plan had basically boiled down to divide and conquer. Split up the Royal Guard, have the Captain take on the Majesty, and then hope everybody won their individual fights. It was the kind of plan you made when you lacked both the discipline for anything more complicated and the information for anything smarter. And because of that, she couldn’t really fault the Captain for making a few last-minute adjustments.

  Originally, every available trainer had been meant to support Johanna, Cecilia, and Oliver in taking down a single Royal Guard—overwhelm one target as quickly as possible, then move on.

  Now?

  They would be split into three, divided equally between the three trainers they were originally supposed to help and the two rangers. Try to stabilize each fight to the maximum degree, instead of clumping everybody together.

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  Cynthia didn’t need anyone to explain the reason for the change.

  They couldn’t find the Majesty.

  Or, put another way—

  She glanced toward where William and the Captain stood, both of them preparing to move out together.

  Yeah, that was definitely a stronger combo.

  On William’s side, his Ground-types were already arrayed around him, long since released from their Poké Balls. Donphan and Golem stood closest, solid and unmoving, while Flygon and Claydol hovered a little farther back. His remaining Pokémon were nowhere to be seen—save for a small mound of disturbed earth nearby, marking a freshly opened tunnel.

  The Captain, meanwhile, hadn’t released his full team. Only his Staraptor and Purugly stood at his side—apparently deciding the two of them would be enough.

  Honestly, she couldn’t even disagree with the assessment.

  Even from here, she could feel the power radiating off the pair. Maybe not quite on the level of something like the Elder Trevenant—but the Staraptor wasn’t that far off, either.

  As if sensing her gaze, the Captain’s Purugly turned its head toward her.

  For a second, their eyes locked.

  Then its eyes narrowed.

  Cynthia spun on her heel fast enough that she could almost feel the heat from the sudden movement.

  Karina smiled back at her.

  “Good instincts,” she praised lightly. “She was definitely about to do something if you hadn’t looked away.”

  Cynthia paused.

  Oh.

  Everyone was staring at her.

  She flushed.

  Still, instead of commenting on her momentary lapse, Karina just shrugged.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “as I was saying—you’re all with me. And while most of you already know me and have seen how I operate, we do have two exceptions.”

  Her gaze settled on Cynthia, then Myst.

  “Cynthia—and… Myst, right?”

  They both nodded.

  “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you both. My name is, as you probably already know, Karina—and I’m the squad’s resident Psychic-type trainer, specialized in tracking and containment.”

  She paused, then flashed an apologetic smile.

  “In other words, this isn’t a battle we’re focused on winning. I’ll be completely transparent—I’m the weakest Ranger here. So our role isn’t going to be anything grand. We’re going to focus on holding out, not trying for a win. It kind of sucks, but that’s how it is. Everybody understand?”

  People nodded.

  “Great. So we have been assigned on taking on the…” She paused, eyes gliding over to Myst for a moment, “Scolian?”

  “Scovillain.” He supplied.

  “Right. Scovillain.” She rolled the word once on her tongue, then shook her head. “Anyway, it’s the smallest of the Royal Guard. But don’t let that fool you—in this case, that actually makes it the hardest to deal with.”

  She gestured vaguely toward the field.

  “Being small makes it easy to lose track of in a fight like this, so my main job is going to be tying it down with Psychic-type pressure. Normally I rely on moves like Barrier and Light Screen, but given how strong a Royal Guard is, I’ll probably need a mix of that and more direct control—using moves like Psychic to push it around instead.”

  She paused, sweeping her eyes over everybody.

  “As for what you’ll be doing—honestly, any attacks you make are unlikely to hurt it much. None of you seem to have Pokémon strong enough to deal real, meaningful damage, so I want you to focus on forcing it off balance. A single hit probably won’t matter, but enough of them might catch it off balance. If your Pokémon have access to moves that can restrain it, prioritize those. They probably won’t work, but even just stopping it for a split second could be worth its weight in gold.”

  She gave a small, pointed nod.

  “Again, our goal isn’t to win—it’s to make sure someone else can.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Still, Cynthia caught the way a few trainers exchanged glances out of the corner of her eye, faint disappointment slipping through.

  “Still, that’s more or less it,” Karina continued. “If anyone has suggestions—anything to add—I’m open to hearing them. If not, you can figure out exactly how you want to fight among yourself. I’m not going to tell you how to use your Pokémon; you understand them better than I do anyway.”

  Karina waited a few seconds, but was met only with silence.

  “Nobody?”

  She shrugged.

  “Alright. I guess we’re ready, then.”

  She turned on her heel, and—like it was choreographed—Cynthia saw Brian and Johanna’s group do the same at the exact same moment.

  The Captain met everyone’s eyes, long since ready, and gave a single nod.

  “We begin.”

  …

  Two-thirds of the way in—that was as far as they got before one of the Royal Guard reacted.

  The Arboliva jerked upright, its eyes snapping open, bloodshot and unfocused—sweeping across them without quite settling on anything. For a heartbeat, it stared. Then its gaze slid away, as if it had already lost interest.

  Its head tilted—then overcorrected, listing to the other side.

  Finally, slowly, its arms began to rise, movements dragging, uneven, as it was unsure what it was doing.

  The flowers around it lit up anyway.

  White petals tore free from the field, some lifting hesitantly into the air while others remained rooted to the ground. Green bled through them unevenly—some petals burning like miniature suns, saturated with energy, while others glowed no brighter than a dull lime.

  Any other time, if Cynthia had seen a Pokémon’s move behave like that, she would have dismissed it as unfinished. Half-formed. Its internal balance too unstable to matter. Something that would collapse under its own weight before it ever became dangerous.

  Right now?

  She could barely breathe.

  Even from this distance, the energy was enough that Queenie stepped in front of her, eyes narrowing to slits—enough that Cynthia herself froze mid-step.

  There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. If that move fired in their direction, the only thing that might save them was Karina’s Pokémon.

  Queenie’s Protect would hold for a moment.

  Then they would be gone.

  The Arboliva snapped one arm toward them.

  White light flared around Purugly and Staraptor as they vanished from sight.

  Too late.

  The energy around the Arboliva surged to an instant, catastrophic climax, every single petal igniting into a blazing sun and—

  —the ground detonated beneath it.

  Earth erupted upward in a violent column, stone and soil tearing through the field as something struck from below. The blast shattered the spiraling petals mid-formation, their glow snuffed out as the attack collapsed inward instead of outward.

  A split second before it could fire a Sandslash had burst from the earth beneath the Arboliva, claws alight with Normal-type energy as it buried them into one arm.

  Slash.

  The impact rippled through the Arboliva’s body—

  And the land answered.

  Green light pulsed outward from the wound as Grass-type energy erupted across the churned earth, Grassy Terrain blooming in an uncontrolled surge beneath them. In an instant, whatever damage the Arboliva had taken seemed to fade, its body shining as it strengthened.

  And so, faster than it had any right to, it reacted.

  One arm snapped tight, hurling Sandslash away with brutal force, tearing the Ground-type free and sending it skidding across the field as white flowers shredded beneath its weight.

  The other?

  It only twitched.

  Petals snapped upward in an instant, forming jagged chains of green light that barely caught the bursts of white before they could crash into the Arboliva. White energy slammed against green, the petal-chains bulging and stretching under the impact—

  —but they held.

  Magical Leaf.

  The white light collapsed, and the forms of both Staraptor and Purugly reappeared—tangled and immobile within the restraints.

  Even so, holding them took its toll. The Arboliva staggered, its frame shuddering as energy bled unevenly through the green chains. The glow across its body flickered, indecisive, unstable—as though it couldn’t quite decide what to do next.

  A beat passed.

  Perfectly still.

  Then everything moved at once.

  The Lurantis’ eyes snapped open.

  Brian’s group moved.

  Johanna’s group rushed forward.

  And finally—

  Cynthia snapped her mouth open.

  “BIND—"

  Roselia didn’t need the rest. One hand snapped up, petals snapping outward in green-lit chains.

  Scovillain was slowed for less than a moment. The chains of leaves tightened around its body just long enough to burn away on contact—just long enough for it to hesitate, the green head snapping toward the Arboliva as fire flared from the red.

  One moment was enough.

  Karina’s Alakazam materialized from thin air, one spoon already leveled at Scovillain’s red head. Purple energy slammed into it, wrenching the head aside and halting its aim on the cluster of trainers.

  Psychic.

  Scovillain didn’t let the Fire-type energy dissipate. Instead it used the force of its head being wrenched sideways, twisting the attack mid-motion and redirecting it straight at Alakazam.

  Flamethrower.

  Alakazam’s spoon twitched, but before it could react more than that, help arrived. A Xatu snapped into existence at its side, a violet barrier flaring to life between them.

  Light Screen.

  The Flamethrower slammed into the barrier, and in an instant it began to warp. It bowed inward under the pressure and heat, the surface rippling as if softening. As the attack continued, the barrier seemed to melt, psychic energy peeling away, stripped layer by layer as it slowly—

  CRACK.

  Shattered.

  Fire-type energy burst through the fractured screen, crashing into both Psychic-types in a blinding roar. For a heartbeat, the world became nothing but heat and light as the force of the blast tore across the field, flattening flowers and grass in its wake.

  Alakazam and Xatu reappeared a moment later, both injured and staggering, having only barely avoided the worst of the blast through Teleport.

  Scovillain didn’t wait for them. The red head flared brighter, flames surging as it tried to line up another Flamethrower into the crowd of trainers.

  But it no longer had the element of surprise.

  A split second before it could fire, a Bronzong crashed into the field between them with a thunderous clang, and an explosive noise tore out of it—part screech, part metal grinding inside the skull.

  Instantly the Fire-type energy around its mouth sputtered, and Scovillian snapped its head away from the trainers once more, sending a bolt of fire straight toward Bronzong instead.

  The Steel-type flinched as fire crashed over its body, the shriek cutting off—but it had done its job. As Scovillain’s red head struggled to reorient, an Espeon leapt from behind Bronzong, eyes blazing as psychic energy gathered, ready to capitalize—

  But Scovillian had two heads.

  The green head snapped toward it, and from its jaws, bursts of green energy spat outward in rapid succession, tearing through the air in a chaotic spray.

  Bullet Seed.

  The first volley caught Espeon mid-leap, and it screamed as the attack slammed into its side, sending it crashing into the ground where it rolled several times before skidding to a halt.

  Scovillain didn’t wait for the Psychic-type to recover. It opened its mouth wider, and another barrage tore free, arcing toward the prone Espeon. The seeds became beams of light, but just as they were about to smash into the helpless Pokémon—

  Mr. Mime was there.

  Sliding in front of its teammate, it threw both hands up, and invisible force snapped into place as the seeds slammed into the barrier in a rapid barrage. Cracks bloomed across the barrier, lines webbing outward with every hit, but this time it held.

  In response Scovillain’s green head drew back again, jaws already glowing as another spray of seeds gathered at its throat.

  Water slammed into both its faces.

  Compared to every other attack so far, the force was trivial.

  Scovillian didn’t need to dodge. Didn’t even need to blink. Instead it merely shifted its weight, stepping cleanly out of the Water Gun’s path.

  The ground gave way beneath it without warning, collapsing instantly. Scovillain lurched sideways, the glow in its jaws sputtering out as the Bullet Seed cut off mid-charge.

  Its red head snapped toward the source of the water, towards the trainers.

  Petals erupted with energy, whipping straight into its open mouth. A heartbeat later, a needle-precise burst of electricity cracked across its eyes, forcing them shut.

  It didn’t scream.

  It didn’t fall.

  The attacks barely scratched it.

  But for a moment, its head reeled back anyway—fire guttering, focus shattered—before it seemed to realize that none of it had actually hurt.

  At all.

  It steadied itself, and a split second passed where it simply stood there, as if it couldn’t quite understand what had just happened.

  Then energy detonated outward from its body as rage cut cleanly through its confusion. With a motion that could only be deliberate, all four of its eyes settled onto the crowd.

  They were still red—but compared to a moment ago, something had changed. No longer raw or bloodshot, the color had gone flatter. Smeared. It bled unevenly at the edges, streaking faintly where water still dripped down its face.

  It took a step forward.

  A burst of Fire-type energy slammed into its chest—and simply washed over it.

  Scovillain’s grin widened as fire gathered in its mouth.

  Bronzong started to move—

  Alakazam and Xatu began to vanish—

  Mr. Mime and Espeon could only watch—

  All too late.

  Blue fire streaked toward it.

  Scovillain didn’t even flinch. The green head smiled wider, flames roaring brighter in its red head as it ignored the attack entirely.

  Cynthia met its smeared red eyes.

  A smile tugged at her lips.

  The blue energy hit.

  Not flame.

  Force.

  Dragon Rage crashed into Scovillain like a battering ram, the impact detonating outward in a blast that was more energy than heat. The grin vanished instantly as its body was torn off its footing, hurled backward through the torn field as the ground cratered beneath it.

  Beside her, Queenie snapped her jaws shut—and then sagged slightly, breath hitching as the last of the Dragon-type energy she had saved up flickered away from her maw.

  Scovillain clawed its way back to its feet almost instantly, movements sharp but unsteady—more dazed than truly hurt.

  Still, while the attack might not have damaged it lost something arguably more important.

  Momentum.

  Karina’s Pokémon swarmed it at once.

  Alakazam and Espeon unleashed successive bursts of Psychic energy, the impacts hammering into Scovillain’s body while Mr. Mime and Xatu held the line in front of them—Barrier and Light Screen already intercepting its counterattack.

  It changed tactics instantly and rushed forward.

  Bronzong was already there, its body shining as Iron Defense activated.

  Scovillain’s Fire Fang crashed into it—but before it could do any serious damage, a Psychic slammed into its side, forcing it to twist away.

  As it landed, both heads glared, fixing on the formation in front of it.

  Close range, and Bronzong was there.

  Try to attack from a distance, and Mr. Mime and Xatu were already prepared.

  Cynthia narrowed her eyes as she watched it open its mouth.

  She already knew—it wasn’t perfect.

  A single Fire Fang, even though Iron Defence, had been enough for Bronzong to take serious damage. Some of Scovillain’s attacks were simply too strong for barriers to absorb cleanly, their force bleeding through and leaving Mr. Mime and Xatu battered as they shielded Espeon and Alakazam. And with the effects of Grassy Terrain, layered atop whatever unnatural influence the Grass Kingdom exerted, the damage Espeon and Alakazam dealt felt almost negligible.

  But honestly?

  It simply didn’t need to be.

  For as much as the healing helped Scovillain, it also hurt it. None of its attacks could finish anybody off after all, and so this was just going to drag on, exactly like they had wanted.

  They weren’t going to win, but—

  Scovillain took a step.

  It tripped.

  It snapped its gaze toward Bronzong—

  —and a burst of water slammed into its face, blinding it mid-motion.

  Scovillain opened its mouth to retaliate.

  Leaves jammed in instead, stuffing its jaws full and almost choking the attack before it began.

  —they also didn’t need to.

  Cynthia felt her mouth twitch.

  Still, she wasn’t going to lie—this was kind of disgusting.

  Even knowing it was their best strategy, watching Scovillain grow more and more frustrated made her feel like she was doing something wrong. Like they were blaspheming Pokémon battling itself, somehow.

  Most of their attacks barely mattered.

  A Buizel fired off a Water Gun—and missed by a mile.

  A Pikachu loosed a Thunder Shock, only for it to slam into Scovillain’s body instead of its eyes.

  But that hardly mattered when four other Pokémon flooded the field with similar beams, flashes, and bursts, all of it layered simply to keep Scovillain’s vision and focus broken.

  Yeah, she might have suggested this, but she was definitely coming up with countermeasures for it too.

  She glanced away, letting her eyes settle on something that didn’t make her want to claw them out.

  “Still nothing?”

  Myst didn’t answer right away, his eyes closed as he communicated with Navi. Then, slowly, he opened them. His gaze lingered on Navi, seated between his legs, her orange horns glowing softly even with her eyes closed.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Even now, she can’t read Scovillain’s mind at all.”

  He frowned.

  “Can’t even—”

  Stone exploded toward them.

  A chunk of rock, knocked loose from the clash between Bronzong and Scovillain, tore through the air straight for Cynthia’s head—nothing more than a blur crossing the distance in the blink of an eye.

  A soft ear intercepted it before it could get anywhere close.

  The stone shattered into fragments.

  “—find it.”

  Rei landed lightly on the ground, already turning her attention back to the fight, a victorious grin flashing across her face. Beside her, Riolu’s eyes dimmed slightly as he let out a tired sigh.

  Myst paused, then glanced down at his partner.

  “Thanks, Rei.”

  She waved him off without looking, posture tightening as her focus snapped fully back to the battlefield.

  Cynthia pursed her lips.

  “If it weren’t for the fact that Navi was able to connect to the Elder Trevenant,” she said slowly, “I’d assume whatever the Majesty did made them impossible to tag entirely. But we know that isn’t the case.”

  Her gaze tracked Scovillain as it dodged a Water Gun, twisted its body to bleed off the force of a Psychic strike, then fired back with a Flamethrower that smashed into Xatu’s Light Screen hard enough to shatter it into fragments.

  “So either Scovillain is unique in some way, the split mind between its two heads interfering with Navi’s ability to find it somehow.”

  Scovillain surged forward, straight toward Bronzong. Its red head opened its jaws, fire already gathering—

  —only for the green head to snap sideways and fire a burst of Bullet Seed toward Xatu instead.

  The attack struck a split second before the bird could raise another barrier. Xatu cried out as the impact knocked it off balance, but before the second volley could hit Mr. Mime raised its hand, absorbing the attack.

  “Or,” she continued, “it’s using an advanced application of Type Energy control—constantly cycling something like Bite, keeping Dark-type energy active so it can stay hidden from Telepathy.”

  Myst furrowed his brows.

  “…Could also be its hidden ability. Maybe Moody somehow interferes with telepathy.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “But I don’t see how it would. It boosts base condition, it doesn’t have anything to do with literally anything related to Telepathy.”

  Cynthia stared at him for a few seconds longer, but instead of continuing, he simply continued to watch Scovillain fight. With a quiet exhale, she shook her own head and turned her attention back to the other battles still raging across the field.

  Johanna’s fight seemed to be, if anything, going better than theirs.

  With Oliver’s and Cecilia’s teams of Psychic- and Fighting-types applying constant pressure, the Lurantis was never allowed to settle. It couldn’t plant its feet, couldn’t choose a rhythm—every attempt to pause was punished immediately. That instability gave Midna and Sassy room to work.

  They operated like assassins.

  Appearing and disappearing between moments, flickering in and out of view, they struck with brutal precision—Dark Pulses and slashes landing hard before Lurantis could properly react.

  Even the trainers supporting them were making a difference. Unlike Scovillain, which shrugged off almost everything thrown at it, the Lurantis actually took damage. Repeated attacks stacked on top of one another, fusing midair into heavier blows that forced the twins to treat even minor pressure seriously.

  Of course, all of this was helped by the way the Lurantis were behaving.

  Or, well, the way both Lurantis were behaving.

  Her gaze flicked to where Brian fought one, then back to the one Johanna was engaging.

  Definitely odd.

  Sometimes they simply stopped—standing in place, twitching as their heads snapped wildly across the battlefield. Their arms moving on their own, green-blades and bursts of energy lashing out at anything that came too close, unfocused and indiscriminate.

  Other times, they fixated.

  A single Pokémon would catch their attention, and that was it. They would lock on and give chase, hurling themselves forward with single-minded fury while ignoring everything else—their surroundings, their footing, even attacks striking from the side.

  They weren’t reacting to the fight so much as being dragged through it by whatever impulse seized them next.

  Not to say that they weren’t dangerous, just like with Scovillain, the layered healing meant that almost any hit they took vanished moments later. And, more importantly, just because it felt nearly impossible for them to faint any of the Royal Guard didn’t mean the same was true in reverse.

  After all, Grassy Terrain didn’t just heal, it also amplified.

  Myst opened his mouth.

  “Is it just me or does it look like Scovillain—”

  She started to turn toward him—

  BOOM!

  —and nearly stumbled mid-step.

  Instinctively, she grabbed hold of Queenie, steadying herself and stopping the fall before it happened. Even so, Cynthia felt the difference between one moment and the next. It was like something inside her had simply shut off. Like a constant lightness she hadn’t known was there had vanished, replaced by its true weight.

  For a heartbeat, she stared blankly at the ground.

  Then it clicked.

  She spun back around, eyes snapping to where William and the Captain had been facing Arboliva.

  A massive cloud of dust billowed there, stone and debris still hanging in the air, slowly collapsing back toward the earth. A second later a powerful gust tore through the haze, ripping the dust apart and scattering it in an instant. When the air cleared, she already knew her guess had been right.

  The Grass-Normal type lay sprawled on the ground beside a panting Donphan, its body slack and unmoving.

  They had won.

  Cynthia felt herself relax slightly.

  Even just one of William or the captain being freed up would be enough to tip the scales, with both being free? If they both joined any of the current fights, they would end in moments, a single Royal Guard being completely overwhelmed.

  “Hey, do you feel that?” One of the trainers said suddenly.

  Cynthia paused.

  “What do—” Another began.

  Cynthia snapped her eyes down.

  The ground was rumbling.

  Not violently. Not even strongly. No more than it had been moments ago, when William’s Ground-types had been tearing the field apart with Earthquakes and Bulldozes.

  But it was doing so steadily.

  She lifted her head and swept the battlefield in a rapid arc. Both fights against the Lurantis had stalled for a moment, and even Scovillain had paused—its attention shifting toward the Arboliva.

  None of them could be the cause.

  Then what was—

  The scent hit her again.

  Not gradually. Not creeping in like before.

  It slammed into her like a physical wall, so thick and sweet it made her breath hitch. She’d almost grown used to it—but in an instant it deepened, sweetness curdling into something cloying, oppressive, as if the air itself had decided to smother her.

  The rumbling.

  The sweet scent amplifying.

  Nobody needed to tell her something was happening.

  She fought the urge to gag and looked towards Myst.

  He didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the center of the clearing, on the tunnel, and on the gigantic vines blocking the way.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened.

  Why was he—

  Then the hairs on the back of her neck slowly stood on end.

  There was absolutely no way.

  Her eyes widened.

  All thoughts of the scent and the rumbling ground vanished.

  The vines were moving.

  Slowly at first the gigantic cords of green started to draw inward, peeling away from the stone. But as the moment ticked by, the process sped up. The rumbling deepened, shifting from a distant vibration into something she could feel in her bones.

  They recoiled in thick heavy coils, tearing free from the tunnel walls and dragging stone with them. The barrier shrank by the second, layers collapsing inward as if answering a silent pull. What had once been an impenetrable wall of vines condensed, tightening and twisting, the mass growing denser rather than smaller.

  The scent intensified again—sweetness curdling into something almost suffocating.

  Cynthia’s breath came shallow as she watched the shape begin to emerge.

  A towering form rose where the tunnel entrance had been, the ground giving one final shudder as the last remaining strands tore free and revealed the Pokémon’s finished form.

  It was gigantic—so large that even seated it still covered nearly the entire opening, easily fifty meters tall.

  She recognized it on sight.

  A Tangrowth.

  A shiny one, judging by the coloration.

  “Holy shit.” Myst said.

  Cynthia could only stare.

  This—was the Majesty?

  Her hand drifted to Queenie’s Poké Ball, fingers resting there without tightening as her mind began to race.

  Even if they all attacked at once, she couldn’t imagine how they were supposed to deal meaningful damage. They could probably exhaust all of its Aura, an idea she didn’t want to unpack given the layered healing saturating the field, and it would probably still shrug off any attack they made. Even a meter-deep strike might not be more than broken skin.

  How were they supposed to fight something like that?

  How was anybody supposed to fight something like that?

  Her gaze lifted automatically to its eyes—

  It could literally swing one arm and they would all be—

  —and paused.

  They were sunken slightly, edges dulled and drying, fixed on nothing at all. No focus, no awareness, nothing

  Dead.

  The Tangrowth’s hands moved, before her mind could process what that meant.

  From their initial position, curled tightly over the center of its chest, they began to lower.

  Slowly.

  The massive coils unwrapped with a slow, dragging sound, tendrils sliding over one another as the arms descended. As they passed its chest, the skin along its arms split slightly—but it didn’t make a single sound.

  Its hands struck the ground with a dull thud, and vines spread on impact, fingers splaying as the hands unfurled against the earth. Thick coils peeled back one by one, revealing what they had been protecting.

  Nestled within the greenery, framed by interwoven vines, sat a Pokémon.

  Its posture was relaxed, long legs folded neatly beneath it, as though sleeping rather than restrained. Its eyes were closed, expression serene—untouched by the violence surrounding it.

  Myst stilled.

  For a single heartbeat, the battlefield froze.

  The remaining Royal Guard. The trainers. Their Pokémon.

  All eyes turned to the figure seated in the Tangrowth’s hands.

  Its eyes opened.

  Soft green energy rose from her body, enveloping her completely.

  It stood up.

  Flakes of green drifted loose as she moved.

  It swept its eyes over the field of flowers.

  Power surged outward in a single, effortless wave. Life answered immediately, flowers re-blooming wherever they had been crushed or torn away.

  It nodded lazily, just once.

  Then it glanced back at the Tangrowth, its eyes reflecting something unspeakable, before turning away.

  And it began to walk.

  Shimmering green scales peeled from its form with each step as it descended the Tangrowth’s palms, vines shifting beneath its feet. There was no urgency in the way its long red legs carried it forward. No hesitation—as if it had nothing to fear.

  It simply moved calmly toward where Arboliva had fainted, light green hair drifting behind it with every step.

  A small, crown-like plant rested upon its head.

  A thick band of red fabric circled its neck.

  And nestled within the red?

  A jagged shard of green stone.

  Myst opened his mouth and let out a sharp, broken laugh.