Silas stared at the woman before him, his expression unreadable.
There was no denying that her figure was alluring–slender waist, soft curves but her beauty was merely average compared to the many stunning women he'd encountered on his journey.
Still, her current behavior was... baffling.
Did she really think seduction would save her now?
As he pondered, her voice broke the silence-a soft, honeyed tone dripping with feigned sweetness.
"Please, my lord… I'm very good at it~"
Silas's eyes turned to ice.
"Turn around," he said flatly.
The woman's heart leapt. So he's taking the bait, she thought smugly. 'He's letting me live… just has his own little kink. Likes it from behind, huh?'
She shot him a sultry glance, turned away, and leaned forward, resting her arms on a dead branch. Her body swayed slightly, her voice low and trembling with fake charm.
"My lord… please, be gentle…"
A glint of metal flashed.
Before her final word could leave her lips, a silver dagger whistled through the air-clean, fast, merciless.
It sank into her throat with a sharp crack.
A wet gasp escaped her lips as crimson splattered across the sand, blooming like a macabre flower under the dying light.
Her eyes widened in disbelief–then dimmed to emptiness.
Silas exhaled quietly, a cold smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He crouched beside the fallen body, flipping her over with practiced ease. From her belt, he retrieved the Poké Ball belonging to her Skuntank.
"You really thought I'd fall for that pathetic act?" he murmured. "All that pretending was just to buy time-to keep your Pokémon from triggering its Aftermath ability."
He recalled the injured Skuntank into its Poké Ball and immediately locked it.
It was the real reason he hadn't killed her sooner.
Skuntank's possible abilities included Stench, Keen Eye, and Aftermath–the last being a dangerous trait that caused the Pokémon to inflict damage on opponent upon fainting, taking its foe down with it.
Even if the odds were small, Silas never gambled with risk.
Overhead, Murkrow circled silently, keeping watch for wild Pokémon drawn by the scent of blood.
Umbreon padded forward, gathering the scattered Poké Balls from the battlefield with her jaws and placing them neatly in front of her trainer.
Once the cleanup was complete, Silas gave a short nod.
"Let's move."
The trio left the corpses behind, disappearing into the small desert as dusk fell.
...
By nightfall, the desert's brutal heat had turned into biting cold. Without proper shelter, a person could freeze before dawn.
Inside a silver-gray tent, Silas sat cross-legged, sifting through the spoils from the ambush.
Clink. Clatter.
He poured everything out–Poké Balls, coins, equipment-onto a spread of cloth before him.
"Two Pokémon around level twenty," he murmured. "Venomoth and Skuntank. Skuntank's ability is Stench,so all that caution earlier was unnecessary."
He scanned the data on his Pokédex. "Venomoth's Hidden Ability… Compound Eyes. That raises its value a bit."
The man's Pokémon, on the other hand, were nothing special.
A Bellossom and a Jumpluff-both around level twenty-two.
"Huh?" Silas muttered as he pulled out a small folded booklet from the pile.
It was a marriage certificate.
Flipping it open confirmed the obvious—the couple he'd just killed were husband and wife.
"No wonder they worked together so well. Robbers and partners, in every sense."
He shook his head slightly, recalling the woman's desperate, sultry act after her partner's death.
"So much for loyalty," he said quietly.
He set the document aside and continued sorting.
Their personal supplies were nearly depleted-clear signs they'd been lying in wait for a long time.
Most of what remained were small jars and bottles.
He opened one-then another.
All of them contained antidotes.
"Figures. Poison specialists," he muttered. "One wrong move and they'd probably poison themselves."
It made sense. Trainers who used Poison-types often carried neutralizers but suffered drawbacks-most people avoided them entirely.
Besides the medicine, there were basic survival tools: ropes, repellents, and a simple tent. Nothing worth keeping.
Silas had Crawdaunt dig a pit and bury the junk.
But when he rummaged through the woman's spatial pack, he found something unusual.
A lump of black sludge slipped out and hit the floor.
The cloth beneath it hissed and corroded within seconds.
Silas quickly pinched the edges of the fabric and stepped outside.
The sludge hit the sand with a wet slap and the ground beneath it turned black, melting like acid.
"Black Sludge…" Silas whispered.
He recognized it immediately-a special Pokémon item that gradually restored HP to Poison-types, but acted like venom when held by others.
"Not bad," he said. "Though the quality's a bit low."
Wearing a protective glove, he scooped the sludge carefully into a glass vial.
"For a pair of weaklings, you were carrying something surprisingly rare."
He sealed the vial and inspected the rest of the pack-inside were a Dark Stone and several bottles of Leymilk, a liquid mineral used in alchemy and breeding.
He smirked. "A black market haul, huh? This'll fetch at least a few hundred thousand Pokédollars."
Still, a darker thought lingered.
'Or… I could make something better.'
His gaze drifted to Umbreon, resting by the tent flap.
When excited or tense, her fur released a faint, toxic sheen-a defensive secretion that could be refined.
"If I'm going to do this," he murmured, "then I'll make my own poison-something no one can counter."
The corner of his lips curved upward, his eyes glinting in the pale moonlight.
Cold. Calculating.
Beneath that silver tent, Silas smiled the kind of smile that could make even the desert's chill feel colder.
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(End of chapter)