It would probably take quite some time for Pidove to reach Eindoak.
Even if there truly was an intelligence network among Pokémon, if Pidove happened to take the wrong path, it might be delayed for days—or even weeks.
But for Raven, this was the only choice.
The Unova region was vast, and even with his knowledge as a transmigrator, Raven couldn't accurately determine his current location based on the terrain.
He couldn't place all his hopes on Pidove alone.
Therefore, Raven decided to send Aiwen to search for nearby human settlements.
That afternoon, Aiwen packed enough food, bid farewell to everyone in the territory, and set out on his mission.
Finding a village wasn't particularly difficult for someone like Aiwen. As a messenger with years of wilderness experience, he knew most villages and towns were built near rivers.
After leaving the territory, he followed the river downstream, step by step.
Along the way, Aiwen occasionally saw wild "beasts" drinking by the water. Fortunately, his survival instincts and experience helped him avoid any encounters with danger.
During the day, he moved cautiously, using the sun to determine his direction. At night, he would rest in hidden caves or sleep among the branches of large trees.
The days passed. His food supply gradually dwindled.
Finally—on the fifteenth day since his departure—Aiwen spotted signs of human life.
From afar, several women in worn clothing were fetching water by the riverbank.
Overjoyed, Aiwen ran toward them, waving. "Hey!"
The women turned at the sudden voice. Seeing a ragged man rushing toward them, they gasped in alarm and prepared to flee.
But one woman—perhaps around thirty—froze when she saw his face clearly.
The wooden basin in her hands fell to the ground with a dull thud.
"Aiwen?" she said, eyes wide.
"Huh? You know me?" Aiwen blinked, confused, then recognition dawned. "Martha!"
Her name brought a surge of relief and joy. He hurried over, still in disbelief. "You're alive? How did you make it?"
Martha had been one of the commoners sent with His Highness Raven to the Driftveil territory. Aiwen had often delivered her letters back in the royal city, and the two had become friendly over time.
Seeing Aiwen safe now, Martha felt both joy and disbelief.
She quickly led him back toward the settlement. After walking down a dirt path lined with spring flowers, a camp came into view—a makeshift village of tents and smoke rising from cookfires.
People bustled everywhere.
When they saw Aiwen and Martha approaching, Martha called out, "Everyone, look who's here."
Heads turned. The moment they recognized Aiwen, disbelief swept across their faces.
"Aiwen?""Where have you been?""What happened to the others?"
They crowded around him, peppering him with questions.
Grinning, Aiwen began to recount what had happened since the blizzard that scattered their group.
"His Highness Raven led us to settle in a valley. We built wooden houses and cleared land for fields. Things are stable now. I came here by his order to find nearby human settlements."
He paused, then asked, "What about all of you? How did you survive?"
Martha exchanged glances with the others before speaking. "It's thanks to Lord Geralt. He led us through the blizzard and found this village. The people here took us in."
Aiwen's eyes widened. "Lord Geralt is alive?"
Martha nodded.
Aiwen looked around, scanning the camp. "Where is he now?"
Martha hesitated. "He's been worried about His Highness Raven. These days, he's been searching the forests for him. Just yesterday, he left again to continue the search. He should return soon."
Relief washed over Aiwen. "That's good news. His Highness will be glad to hear Lord Geralt is safe."
The others nodded, some smiling faintly.
Aiwen then noticed how large the camp was—larger than he'd expected.
"How many of us are still here?" he asked.
Martha's face darkened. "Only two hundred and twenty-one."
Silence fell.
There had been more than six hundred when they departed the royal city. Now, fewer than half remained.
Deep within the forest, a tall, broad-shouldered man with long silver hair leaned against a tree, gazing at the sky through the canopy.
Beside him, a powerful Haxorus was grinding its axe-like tusks against a rock.
Creak, creak—
The noise made Geralt glance sideways. With a faint sigh, he tossed a whetstone toward the dragon. "Use this instead."
Haxorus caught it easily, studied it for a moment, then continued sharpening its tusks, now more efficiently.
Geralt watched the dragon for a moment, then turned his gaze to the horizon.
It had been three months since he'd been separated from His Highness Raven.
From his scouting of the surrounding terrain, he knew that the storm they faced had been impossible to cross safely. Raven's group must have taken shelter somewhere, just as he had.
His thoughts drifted back to that chaotic day.
A horde of feral beasts had ambushed them in the forest. To protect His Highness, Geralt had drawn them away alone.
Cornered at a cliffside, he had no choice but to fight.
But something unexpected occurred—The beasts didn't swarm him. Instead, they challenged him one by one, as if testing his strength.
He slew several before finally facing their leader. Their weapons—his sword and its blade-like tusks—clashed with a deafening crack.
Both broke at once.
Geralt had braced himself for death, yet the beasts did not attack again.
Instead, they simply watched him—eyes filled not with hatred, but with respect.
One of them, the Haxorus, had even chosen to leave its kin and follow him.
Now, months later, that same dragon stood beside him, loyal and silent.
Geralt pushed off the tree, his voice low but steady.
"Let's go," he said. "It's time to find His Highness Raven."