After resupplying in Snowpoint City, Luther wasted no time; he set out almost the very same day.
But just before leaving, there was a small episode.
Luther had tracked down Stonebreak Gym, intending to ask Matsumoto for the Badge he was technically owed.
After all, he had beaten Matsumoto in a proper battle that day. By rights, the Stonebreak Badge should have been his. But with all the chaos surrounding Cynthia afterward, he had completely forgotten to claim it.
The more he thought about it, the more it stung. The temptation of the Badge was too much, so he knocked on the Gym's doors.
Matsumoto, however, was in no mood. Half the reason Stonebreak Gym was facing closure now lay at Luther's feet, and Matsumoto knew it.
He didn't believe himself weak. Instinct told him Luther was no "rookie Trainer" like Cynthia had claimed, but circumstances had forced him to swallow his pride at the time. He hadn't pressed the point further.
"The Badge? Ask Cynthia," Matsumoto snapped. Sweat flew as he hammered away at the wooden training post in front of him. "She was just here, took the whole Badge case away. So what're you bothering me for?"
It was clear he had no intention of humoring Luther.
Luther could only accept the bitter truth: once again, he was a step too late. He even toyed with the thought of asking Cynthia to slip him his Badge later, but pride held him back.
Pride, what a dangerous, stupid thing.
The road from Snowpoint City to the abandoned mines was no easy trek. Guided by the map, Luther and Mai skirted steep mountainsides, instead following snow-choked forest trails.
This time of year, the Pokémon that remained active were those with remarkable resistance to cold, species that needed little food to sustain them.
The less hardy ones had already migrated closer to human settlements, or dug themselves into burrows to sleep away the worst of winter.
From what Luther had observed, Zigzagoon and Spinda seemed to be the liveliest creatures in the snowfields these days.
Even with the ground buried under a heavy white blanket, nearly deep enough to swallow them whole, Zigzagoon could still sniff out the berries hidden beneath. Time and again, Luther spotted packs of them digging in the snow, unearthing what food remained.
Spinda wobbled nearby, their drunken gait dizzying to watch. They shadowed the Zigzagoon closely, and if any Pokémon dared approach to snatch their berries, the Spinda stepped forward.
Sometimes they staggered erratically in front of intruders, weaving left and right like intoxicated fools to block the way. Other times, they drove them off outright.
It was a symbiotic partnership. While Zigzagoon dug, Spinda defended. When the search ended, Zigzagoon would share a berry or two with their guardians.
For the weaker Pokémon of the snowfields, such mutual aid was often the only way to survive the harsh weather.
On the evening of their third day since leaving Snowpoint, Luther climbed a ridge. He raised his phone, checked the map, then let his gaze sweep across the landscape before him.
The abandoned mining zone stretched out below.
It was desolate.
The land lay scarred and gouged, dotted with dilapidated huts that looked ready to collapse at the next strong gust.
Inside, broken furniture lay scattered, untouched for years. On the roadside, rusted shovel heads gleamed dully, their wooden handles long since rotted away. An old rocking chair sat square in the middle of the path, eerily out of place. At first glance, it nearly made Luther's heart jump.
Once, this place had not been called the "Abandoned Mines."
Back when Bertha herself traveled these roads, it had been the most bustling settlement near Whitewind Town.
The lure of gold and silver veins had drawn people here in droves with pickaxes and shovels in hand, striking the earth in pursuit of glittering fortune.
The miners hadn't come alone. They had brought their Pokémon, beasts of burden, partners in labor. They shattered stone, hauled loads, dug tirelessly through the earth. At its height, the mining town had swelled into a gathering of tens of thousands.
When Bertha passed through during her own travels, the place still burned with the heat of prosperity. But for the wild Pokémon that called these mountains home, that human joy was nothing short of disaster.
The endless clamor of pickaxes striking stone, the groan of earth as it was hollowed out, and the shouts of laborers from dawn to dusk, all of it drove the native Pokémon into restless fury.
Rock-types and Ground-types that had lived in their burrows for generations surged out of the tunnels, launching ambushes against the intruding miners.
Their rage won them only a brief reprieve. Soon, the miners returned, this time with powerful Pokémon Trainers at their side. Against such overwhelming strength, the native Pokémon could only flee, scattered and broken.
Bertha had been there. She had taken in some of those displaced Ground-types, giving them purpose and a future. From that moment, the path that would one day make her the Elite Four's master of Ground-types truly began.
She had tried to stop the miners back then, being young, furious, and righteous, but she had failed. She hadn't had the strength.
Years later, when Luther asked her what she would do if the same thing happened today, Bertha's answer had been different.
"I'd try to mediate. Case by case, situation by situation."
The fire of youth was gone, replaced by pragmatism. Yet to Luther, it felt like the most reasonable answer.
It was a conflict without a perfect solution. As humans pushed further into the wilds, they were bound to clash with Pokémon.
Pokémon defending their territory was only natural. But was it wrong for humans to carve out new land in order to survive?
"Passion belongs to the young," Bertha had said, almost to herself. "I'm long past the age of barging in, fists swinging, pretending I'm some savior just because I shouted louder than everyone else."
She knew better than anyone: driving humans out by force wouldn't solve anything. Could she stay here forever, guarding these Pokémon alone? What about when the miners returned, stronger and more desperate than before?
In the end, time itself had settled the matter.
The veins of silver and gold dried up. The frenzied rush for wealth faded away.
All that remained was scarred land, hollowed and ruined. The miners moved on, leaving behind empty shells of houses and tools left to rot.
For years afterward, no Pokémon dared return. Travelers who passed through described the place as a haunted house under the open sky, its silence colder than winter air.
Now, not another soul crossed Luther's path. The mining zone was quiet, oppressively so.
He struck a flame and fire roared to life, casting flickering light against the sagging wooden walls, and for a moment it felt as though the place had breathed again.
A Sandshrew popped up from the soil nearby, only to freeze at the sight of Luther and Mai. It darted back underground, scurrying away in panic.
But the smell of cooking proved stronger than its fear. Before long, the little Ground-type crept back, nose twitching, eyes flicking warily between Luther's circle of Pokémon. Curiosity shone through its hesitation.
Time had dulled even the old grudges, those raw scars of hatred between wild Pokémon and humans.
Luther tossed it a piece of roasted meat. The Sandshrew caught it, sniffed, then devoured it happily.
Gone was the suspicion, gone was the fear. When it had finished, the cheerful creature bounced straight over to Courtney's side, striking up lively chatter with Chansey and the others as though it had always belonged there.
If Luther had wanted, this would have been the perfect moment to throw a Poké Ball.
But he didn't.
Even if Sandshrew had walked right up to him, he wanted to do it properly, honestly.
That was the kind of Trainer he wanted to be.
--- End of Chapter ---
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