LIGHTNOVELONLINE Lost Woods
Climbing out of my tent, I pause. I was about to activate my suit’s arms and charge to the nearest town, but something…worrying has captured my attention.
Right out of the corner of my eye… The stump upon which I worked relentlessly yesterday has mysteriously disappeared. Or…Well, it’s not really a mystery. There’s only about three pokémon it could be. One a pumpkin, one would mean that I’m already a dead woman walking, and the last has some connotations about the safety of these woods.
Luckily, Trevenant aren’t known for their subtlety. So, my options are to go to the nearest town and fix my arms, which I can technically do anytime as long as I’m careful. And on the other hand, I could expand my roster a little further by searching for the soul of a dead child inhabiting a tree stump.
Hmm… Should I be worried about the fact that I even have to think about this? Of course, I want the child soul!
I pull out a pokéball; a tangential thought about how they work flitting through my mind. It’s…I’ll come back to that one later. Child hunting time!
I refuse to reword or amend that statement.
Giving each of my pokémon a breakfast that they can eat on the go, we trek out, searching for a specter of these lost woods. Honestly speaking though, I do want to capture a Phantump because I want to—No, I need to know if they still have memories of when they were alive.
With absolutely zero clues to use, I wander. Phantump are stated to possess a tree stump after a child dies; however, nothing states this has to be a human child. Some other entries state it is caused by a child becoming lost, but this usually would lead to the demise of a child.
Now, what happens if an adult dies in a forest? Or, what constitutes a child in pokémon terms? We say child in the pokédex made by humans, but that’s simply because, sadly, the majority of people that have died in the forests in the past were children. Especially before they set 18 to be the minimum age for trainers; it used to be much, much lower.
And, for obvious reasons, it’s not like we can legally send groups of people of differing ages into the forest to wander and die. I’d bet money on one of those criminal syndicate teams having at least one curious researcher who would do such a thing.
Oh! What a surprise! Figy berries! At least, I’m pretty sure they are. I’m not a botanist—though I’ve been studying that in my free time, along with several other subjects—but I’m at least 30% sure that this is one of my beloved spicy berries.
I grab a few, rubbing one on the tip of my finger. I’ll wait and see if I get a rash. Better safe than sorry. I can run away from pokémon; I can’t run away from debilitating food poisoning.
Shooting a glance at my entourage of pokémon, Cecilia and Elspeth are glaring at the Figy berries like they cursed out their mothers. I guess they don’t like these berries…or maybe they’re poisonous… Well, everything’s poisonous in large enough quantities…
Eh, whatever. I’ll take them to a market another day.
*snap* …That’s…abnormal. Using every bit of motor function control in my possession, I keep my body moving like normal—no frigid or erratic movements. The only visible sign I’m aware of would be the panic in my supposedly dilated pupils. None of my pokémon moved. None of them broke the branch.
The Rangers reported little to none stealth predatory pokémon in the area with the exception of Phantump and Trevenant. So…why would a branch be broken? Non-stealth? No…I’m not dead.
A mistake? Possible. Likely, to be honest. Most of them should be naturally stealthy.
*rustle* “THERE!” The tension bursts from my bosom in an authoritative shout, accompanied by the hurl of a pokéball.
Quick to react, Robin and Elspeth are poised for murder. Cecilia, arguably one of my weakest, takes to the air, well within air support distance of Hazel’s Pin Missile.
I stalk forward, pushing the brush aside. The watch the shaky-shaky of the pokéball and ponder the odds of the mystery pokémon being caught. Let’s see…how close the pokémon is to exhaustion, element of surprise, grade of pokéball, and the will of the pokémon itself.
…
Well, I caught them. Either I have much better motor control than I must admit, or this pokémon has a really weak will because, in all honesty, it was not the quality of the ball at all.
I gently grasp the ball; my team still ready to fight behind me. I guess it’s time to meet the new recruit.
With a burst of light, energy is converted back to matter before my eyes—something that I will investigate—a small-ish pokémon is released. With such a light body, it practically floats in the eye, gazing up at me with watery, wide eyes… I think it might cry…
“…You aren’t a Phantump…” I mumble, kneeling down to the timid pokémon. It almost backs away at the sight.
“You, my friend, are a Noibat.” With large droplets threatening to drop, it backs away slowly, or rather, folds itself into a ball. “…Do you understand me?” Not only do I see fear within the eyes I can barely see, but I find confusion buried there as well.
Humans have been in this region long enough for the knowledge of human languages to pass down between generations of pokémon with the express purpose of interacting with humans. However, this region has two state-enforced languages, with only one being added more recently…
«Me comprenez-vous?» I ask in Kalosion. The Noibat, thankfully, stops the beginning of the shakes. «Je m’appelle Nicole. Je suis votre nouvelle dresseuse de pokémon.»
With little pattering steps, the Noibat edges closer to me. They—hold on—She will most likely have to learn the world’s most common language. I’m sure I can convince one of my other pokémon to help me.
Oh well, not a Phantump, but still worthwhile. Guess I’ll head to the town for now.
«Suivez-moi.»
