"Impossible. There's no mention of the name of the almighty Sinnoh in the texts passed down to me. How could it be common knowledge?"
After a moment's thought, Volo shook his head and retorted with a frown.
He trusted his judgment. If even the books handed down by his ancestors made no mention of it, then this so-called clanswoman in front of him must be lying.
But before he could say more, Cynthia let out a lazy yawn, looking even more dismissive.
"Just because your records don't include it doesn't mean other direct descendants—ones with intact scrolls and purer bloodlines—didn't preserve the truth, you know?"
Seeing Volo freeze again, Cynthia had to fight the urge to laugh.
She'd expected him to be clever. But clearly, he was just a little more well-read than the average Hisuian—still no match for Elias.
As expected.
After hearing that, Volo lost his temper.
"If you're so sure of yourself, then your ancient texts can't possibly only mention the name of the Sinnoh deity, right?"
"What else do you know? If you have the guts, say it out loud."
As a direct descendant of the ancient Sinnoh people, Volo felt his pride being challenged.
He refused to believe he couldn't expose her lies.
"Why should I tell you?"
Cynthia narrowed her eyes, voice cool and playful.
Volo paused to consider, then offered:
"If what you say matches what I know, I'll tell you how to meet the true Sinnoh god."
"I swear it on my bloodline—I won't go back on my word."
Though reluctant, Volo finally made the vow.
His method for encountering Arceus had come from years of his own deduction and fieldwork—plus a little help from that shadow-dwelling Pokémon. There was no way she knew about that.
Just as he expected, Cynthia nodded without hesitation.
There was no harm in Volo knowing what she knew—especially if it got her closer to Arceus. That might even be her key to returning to the modern world.
With that in mind, she began to explain—carefully selecting and trimming her words—what she knew about Dialga, Palkia, and their lore.
Along the way, she wove in fragments of legends about Arceus and Regigigas.
As she spoke, Volo's arrogant expression gradually shifted—from skeptical, to dazed, to visibly shaken.
He was a direct descendant too. So why did he know so little?
He'd considered the possibility that Cynthia was bluffing. But… too many of her fragments matched the scattered clues he had painstakingly gathered over the years.
Bits and pieces he had dug out from ruins were now, under Cynthia's guidance, clicking into place with uncanny clarity.
And just as Volo's mental defenses began to crumble—
Cynthia delivered the finishing blow.
"You even know about Giratina?"
The moment she said 'that frenzied Pokémon from the distortion realm', Volo's entire body stiffened.
His reaction didn't escape Cynthia's notice.
Giratina.
In the modern era, Giratina was a hotly debated legend. There were so few records or ruins mentioning it that even seeing it referenced was rare.
She'd only mentioned it offhand—while trying to flesh out the mythology surrounding Dialga and Palkia.
And yet… Volo knew.
"I've said enough. Now it's your turn."
Cynthia crossed her arms, voice indifferent but firm.
Volo gritted his teeth slightly.
He was sure—absolutely sure—Cynthia knew even more than she was letting on. That thought alone was maddening.
It was like a claw scratching at the inside of his skull.
But… she wasn't wrong. He'd made a promise.
And besides, if she really was of the same bloodline, she wouldn't do him harm… right?
With that half-convinced rationale, Volo slowly began to share his plan.
"Wait a second."
Cynthia suddenly raised a hand.
Volo looked up—only to see her pull out a rectangular, brick-shaped object and aim it at him.
"Okay. Now you can continue."
She gave him a pleasant smile.
That's right—when she'd traveled to Hisui, her communicator had come with her.
It had been broken—and even if it hadn't, there was no signal to use in this primitive era.
But just for today's conversation, she had gone out yesterday and caught a Rotom.
With Rotom's help, the device still couldn't send messages… but its recording function worked just fine.
Volo stared at the strange object in her hand, brow twitching.
Another thing he didn't recognize.
Still, he was pressed for time. He couldn't afford to fuss over it now.
Suppressing his irritation, he began recounting his plan.
...
Meanwhile, deep in the forest—
The battle was already over.
In a five-on-four fight, the opposing Lucario, Arcanine, and Spiritomb had gone down within minutes.
Only Garchomp had held out, nearly escaping a few times.
But under the joint assault of Elias's Lucario and Zoroark, it eventually collapsed as well.
Elias stepped toward the unconscious Spiritomb and pulled the Plate from beneath its body.
As he suspected—it was identical to the other Plates he'd already collected.
Judging by the energy, this one was Ghost-type.
A satisfied smile spread across his face.
Now, both Lucario and Zoroark had Plates of their own.
Before handing them over to Regigigas, it wouldn't be a bad idea to let his Pokémon use them to boost their strength.
"Elias, that's all of them."
After scouting the area, Lucario returned and reported calmly.
Elias nodded lightly.
"Alright. Let's head back to camp."
"Cynthia's probably holding Volo off. Perfect timing to end this."
With that, he pressed the [Spooky Plate] into Zoroark's arms.
"Take care of this for me, okay?" he said.
Zoroark, whose mood had been gloomy all morning, suddenly brightened.
Feeling the energy from the Plate—a resonance that matched her innermost essence—she narrowed her eyes, content.
It enhanced her strength.
And more importantly… it was a gift from Elias.
Those two facts alone were enough to fill her with attachment.
She gently nuzzled her head against him, then carefully cradled the Plate in her arms.
She was going to get stronger. Strong enough to shut everyone up—people and Pokémon alike.
As Elias began heading back toward camp, Cynthia's conversation had just come to an end.
"What a meticulous and amusing plan."
Powering off her communicator, Cynthia gave a slow clap, lips curling into a smirk of genuine admiration.