Chapter 139: White Leaf Town

Chapter 39: Whiteleaf Town

Following the Great Cataclysm hundreds of years ago, humanity retreated to the furthest corners of the world. Centered around the few remaining high-level Pokémon left within their ranks, the Alliance established a series of massive capital cities. These bastions stood firm against the formidable onslaught of Nightmare Pokémon, offering refuge to humans who had been cast out like stray dogs. Over the years, through the Alliance’s targeted training, an increasing number of powerful elite trainers have emerged, adding their strength to the survival and prosperity of mankind.

The Nightmare Pokémon seemed to have gradually passed the frenzied state that followed their initial infection; their offensive momentum waned, and the frequency of coordinated sieges diminished. The struggling remnants of humanity multiplied rapidly, utilizing land reclaimed by Alliance elite trainers to construct small settlements that ringed the main cities like satellites. Whiteleaf Town was one such place.

Despite being called a "town," it was, in reality, little more than a small village. Whiteleaf Town was situated to the northwest of "Gale City," one of the nine great human capitals, and lay adjacent to the Kolon Wilderness. The Kolon Wilderness, formerly a hunting ground established by humans, had been teeming with captive Pokémon. Consequently, during the early stages of the Nightmare Seed invasion, it caused significant trouble for humanity. However, because it was a "hunting ground," it lacked any truly overwhelming Lord Pokémon; the majority were merely weak, common creatures. Thus, once the Alliance regained its footing, the Kolon Wilderness became the primary target for exploration. Over the years, under official governance, the outer reaches of the Kolon Wilderness were designated as a safe zone, and Whiteleaf Town was established as a result.

"Thump!"

Ail hopped lightly from a tree, his short, platinum-blonde hair catching the warm glow of the setting sun. Fine beads of sweat seeped from his pores, covering his youthful face. He tightened his grip on the wooden basket filled with fresh berries, a look of satisfaction visible in his emerald eyes.

Ail tilted his head and looked up at the sky. A brilliant, vivid purplish-red sunset had already stained the better part of the horizon. Realizing it was getting late, he hurried, his small legs moving quickly as he headed for home. Shadows of the night began to cloak the earth, and a quiet, dangerous darkness crept silently from the edge of the sky. Ail’s heart hammered against his ribs; this was the first time he had returned home so late. Thoughts of the fantastical stories his father told him before bed, combined with the image of his mother’s inevitable, rainstorm-like scolding, filled him with a restless anxiety.

"Patter, patter."

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the woods.

Finally, thin wisps of smoke, redolent with the scent of hearth and home, rose toward the sky, which had been obscured by the dense canopy. The village’s wooden gate appeared in the distance.

"Whew..."

With a long sigh of relief, Ail panted as he raised his left hand to wipe the sweat from his flushed cheeks. With a look of fortune, he skipped toward the entrance.

"Little Ail, why are you only just getting back?"

On the narrow village path, a hunched old man with white hair and a beard stood leaning on a cane, asking with a kindly expression.

"Grandpa Mayor!"

Ail greeted him with a lively tone, gesturing to the overflowing fruit basket in his hand. The village head nodded with a smile, the fine wrinkles on his brow bunching together.

"It’s getting late, hurry home!"

"Okay!"

Responding with youthful vigor, Ail’s slender frame darted past the old man. The breeze he kicked up ruffled the loose hem of the Mayor’s robes. Watching the figure quickly disappear into the distance, the Mayor shook his head with an indulgent smile. He turned around and continued on his way, leaning on his cane, his head lowered as he walked slowly.

Yet, in his deep-set eyes, the murky pupils lost their original warmth and kindness, replaced instead by a profound sense of worry. In the houses lining the road, the noisy play of children echoed in his ears; the aroma of evening meals wafted from chimneys, filling the air. The half-sun on the horizon cast a golden twilight over the remote, narrow village, perfectly capturing the simple, cozy essence of human life. But the Mayor was in no mood to appreciate the scene. He walked down the quiet street, his hunched body radiating a heavy heart.

He stopped in front of a small wooden hut. Compared to the surrounding houses with their white walls and black tiles, this structure seemed out of place, as if it belonged to a different world. Rough, crude planks, loose and falling rusty nails, and mottled, blurry glass...

Every sign indicated that the owner of this cabin was not a person of meticulous habits. Perhaps the only highlight of the entire hut was the red-and-white Poké Ball emblem nailed to the door frame.

"Tap... tap... tap..."

The Mayor curled his withered fingers and knocked gently on the wooden door, creating a crisp sound.

"Coming!"

A gruff voice boomed from within, followed by a series of heavy footsteps and the screech of creaking floorboards. The door swung open to reveal a burly man with thick eyebrows, his appearance matching his voice. A dense, dark-brown beard clung to his chin in a wild, unkempt mess. His upper body was bare, revealing bulging, corded muscles, and several jagged scars were faintly visible on his dark skin.

"Mayor."

The bearded man greeted the old man, then opened the door wide and stepped aside. The Mayor nodded, leaning on his cane, and walked in silently.

The interior of the cabin was just as simple as the exterior. A single wooden bed with a thin quilt, two chairs surrounding a small table, and a few thick, untitled books piled atop it. In the corner, an iron pot with a lid sat on the stove, bubbling and steaming as it cooked something. Judging by the unpleasant odor permeating the room, it was unlikely to be a delicious meal.

The Mayor scanned the room with his cloudy eyes and pulled up a wooden chair to sit down.

"What’s wrong? Is something the matter?"

The bearded man walked over to the stove, lifted the lid to take a look, and stroked his beard, joking, "Surely you didn't come to my humble place just to beg for a meal."

The Mayor sat quietly, saying nothing, his hands folded over his cane.

Silence. The atmosphere suddenly turned somber.

The bearded man’s expression shifted, realizing the Mayor had come for a serious reason. He wiped his oily hands on his trousers and pulled up a chair, sitting opposite the old man.