Logan remained alert to the circling Fearow overhead. In front of him, Gible stood grinding its sharp fangs, a deceptively cute exterior hiding a violently aggressive heart. Its eyes burned with rage as it glared at the flying intruders above—it was furious not only at them but also at its own inability to fly.

Reality wasn’t like the games—turn-based with neat hit-rate calculations. Here in the wild, Pokémon battles followed no such rules. For non-flying Pokémon like Gible, opponents with aerial superiority were inherently difficult to deal with. If the flying-types launched attacks, there was at least a slim chance to retaliate during their descent. But when they simply hovered and avoided engagement, Gible was utterly helpless against them.

Earlier, Logan had cleverly used Psychic powers to cast an Illusion, mimicking a move similar to Double Team. The resulting mirage fooled one of the Fearow into attacking. It dived, only to be baited into slamming its beak into a thick tree trunk—an ambush orchestrated by Logan. With its advantage in the air lost, the grounded Fearow never stood a chance against Gible.

“That Fearow seems like the leader,” Logan muttered, looking at the heavily wounded and unconscious bird. “Now that it’s down, the flock has two choices—either flee in fear, or rally their kin to seek vengeance. And judging from Fearow behavior… either outcome is equally possible.”

He glanced down at the unconscious Fearow. This self-protection mechanism was common to all Pokémon—when near death, their bodies would force them into a comatose state to minimize further damage. In official Pokémon battles, this state would be considered a loss, and any further attack would be banned. Professional trainers knew how to read their Pokémon’s condition well and would never allow them to reach such critical states; they’d recall them well before. It was considered basic etiquette—and competence.

But this wasn’t an official match. This was the wild. Here, it was kill or be killed.

Logan hadn’t spared the Fearow out of mercy—he knew it wouldn’t survive. There were no medical facilities out here, no potions or Pokémon Centers. Even if he didn’t finish it off, the bird would either bleed out or get picked off by some other wild predator. Logan simply chose not to waste energy on a foe already marked for death.

“…Looks like we got the annoying outcome,” he muttered grimly.

Logan’s ears twitched slightly. More wingbeats. He didn’t need to look to know—the Fearow flock had chosen revenge. Reinforcements were incoming.

His expression hardened. “Gible, retreat! Too many hostiles incoming—use Sandstorm!”

If it were an inexperienced trainer giving commands, a temperamental and aggressive Pokémon like Gible might ignore them and charge in out of spite. But Logan was no amateur—he wielded the power of the Dragonheart, giving him near-absolute control over dragon-type Pokémon.

Without hesitation, Gible obeyed, nodding once before summoning a cloud of blinding sand and grit around them. Though the move only covered a ten-meter radius due to Gible’s current strength, it was enough to obscure them from the circling Fearow overhead.

The seasoned predators didn’t dare dive blindly into the swirling sand. They hovered instead, watching and waiting. But by the time the sand began to clear, all that remained beneath them was an empty clearing—and a small hole in the ground.

Dig—an incredibly versatile move, ideal for both attack and retreat.

Logan crouched low, running through the tunnel behind Gible. Contrary to what it looked like, Dig didn’t require Gible to physically claw through the earth. Rather, it used its innate Dragon-type energy to carve out a tunnel over a meter tall, enabling Logan to follow comfortably.

Logan had long since stopped trying to figure out the science of it. To him, it might as well be magic.

It was said that Steelix could burrow through the ground at speeds of up to 80 km/h without even using a move. The idea of riding a Steelix underground… it was like having a tank made of rock.

After a while, Logan gave a new order. “We should be far enough. Let’s head back up. I don’t think there are any Dugtrio in this forest, but running into a Sandslash family wouldn’t be fun either.”

Gible halted, letting Logan tie a rope securely around its body. Then it began digging upward. After carefully breaking through the surface, it scanned the area before tugging the rope. Logan climbed up through the tunnel with practiced ease—they’d clearly done this many times before.

Back above ground, Logan glanced toward the sky. Due to the thick canopy, the sun was no longer visible. Nightfall was imminent.

Gible was breathing harder than usual—Dig had drained a good deal of its energy. Logan paused, listening. The sound of running water wasn’t far off.

“Looks like we’re in luck. There’s water nearby—we’ll camp here for the night.”

In the wild, you couldn’t allow your Pokémon to remain exhausted for long. Especially not when Gible was his only Pokémon besides Mewtwo. If Gible collapsed, Logan would be left vulnerable and alone.

Gible gave a low roar, taking the lead as Logan followed. Soon they arrived at a small stream. Logan pulled out a high-tech camping kit from his utility pouch, then gathered thick fallen branches from the surrounding forest. Gible’s sharp teeth acted like nimble tools, carving the logs into sharp stakes. Under Logan’s direction, they used the stakes to secure the tent tightly to the forest floor.

Most rivers in this world—save for a few polluted ones from the past—were clean and pure. Logan filled a flask with water and gathered dry twigs for kindling. Back at camp, he clapped his hands.

“Flamethrower!”

Since he had lost his lighter, Gible’s small jet of flame was a handy replacement. The fire roared to life beneath the bundle of dry wood.

Logan placed the river water in a metal tin suspended over the fire. He added spices and pre-prepared ingredients, letting them stew. Soon, it would become a hot, hearty soup. Meanwhile, he poured some of Professor Oak’s special dragon-type formula into a bowl and placed it in front of Gible, who lay down like a puppy, happily devouring its meal.

“We don’t have much food left. After a few more days, we’ll need to head back to the city and recover. We can’t push deeper into the forest—not without serious risk. We’ve met dangerous Pokémon already. Any deeper, and we’ll be gambling with our lives.”

Logan placed a hand on Gible’s rough, sandpaper-like skin, his voice calm and pragmatic. Gible wasn’t like Mewtwo—it needed time and training to grow stronger. In just under a month, it had already improved in strength, reaction, and combat instinct.

If this were a game, its level would’ve skyrocketed by now.

But this wasn’t a game. It was real life.

Wild Pokémon wouldn’t show up one at a time in convenient waves. Sometimes, you’d face dozens. Hundreds. And when that happened, if you didn’t run—you died.

“Roarrr—” Gible responded, signaling it understood, then returned to eating.

Logan flexed his left arm. It felt normal again. The medicine in this world was truly advanced—external injuries rarely even scarred. The cast, spun from Caterpie’s silk, had done its job. In the wild, injuries were inevitable, and he had no desire to turn into some scar-faced brute.

[Do you really not need to eat, Mewtwo?]

He mentally reached out to the psychic Pokémon inside the Master Ball.

[I don’t need food. The ambient energy around me is enough to sustain my physical functions.]

Every time Logan heard this, he was amazed. Mewtwo had practically reached some immortal cultivation realm—like a god surviving off pure energy.

[Still… that’s a shame. Tasting food is one of life’s pleasures.]

[When my genetic optimization is complete and I can freely leave this Poké Ball… let’s try those delicacies you’re always talking about.]

Inside the Master Ball, Mewtwo actually smiled.

[I’ll be looking forward to that day.]

Talking with Mewtwo helped chase away the loneliness. Gible was cute in its own feral way, but it couldn’t hold a conversation. And loneliness was the greatest enemy of all when traveling alone.

With their meal finished and energy replenished, Logan pulled out a notebook and began jotting down thoughts, observations, and newly learned tactics.

Right now, he was studying harder than he had for any high school entrance exam.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep