Aoki, who followed behind Lance, carefully observed the shifting expressions of the gathered individuals. The man adorned in ornate formalwear before the incense hall bore a look of relief, while the black-clad figure opposite wore a strained grimace, though an undercurrent of indifference still seeped through his demeanor.
"Lance, your presence brings us immeasurable reassurance," an elderly butler emerged from the crowd of finely dressed attendants, addressing Lance with a deferential bow. The group clearly revolved around a young girl at its center—presumably the heir to this legacy.
"Head Butler, this isn't the same instigator as last time, is it?" Lance dismounted from his Dragonite, his crimson cape fluttering as he approached.
The butler sighed, his shoulders sagging. "This is their true leader. He secluded himself previously to breach the Champion threshold. Now, bolstered by an unknown faction's support, he seeks to plunder our ancestral relics once more."
Lance's gaze slid toward the ongoing battle in the courtyard. The black-clad man exuded a commanding aura, his Pokémon overwhelming the Balfam Incense Hall's chief guard—a trainer of near-Champion caliber. Yet the guard's six pseudo-Champion Pokémon could barely withstand the assault. Had the attacker not limited himself to two Pokémon, the confrontation would have ended already.
The Balfam Incense Hall's defenses were nominal at best. The Kalos League offered little aid, leaving the head guard as their sole bastion. Ordinarily, the hall's sanctity deterred aggression, and League intervention would follow any external threat. But this was an internal dispute within the royal bloodline—a matter the League hesitated to mediate.
"Surrender what I seek, and I swear no harm will come to the hall or its people," the black-clad man's voice cut through the tension. "But test my patience, and the consequences will be… unpleasant." His demand was singular, not a wholesale pillaging.
Silence met his ultimatum. Lance strode forward, placing a gauntleted hand on the guard captain's sweat-drenched pauldron. "I'll take it from here," he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
The captain exhaled, shame flickering across his face. "My failures force you to intervene yet again, Lance." Their camaraderie was evident—Lance was no stranger to this place.
"So, you're the outsider who meddled before," the black-clad man—Bass—snarled, though a thread of unease laced his anger. "These are Kalosian affairs. Leave."
Lance's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I decline."
Bass's jaw tightened. "A pity. Then I'll remove you first." He turned to the woman beside him—khaki-haired, clad in a red skirt and oversized goggles. "My apologies for imposing, Miss Akabi."
She laughed, a sharp, metallic sound. "Oh, Bass, you flatter me. This is why I'm here, isn't it?" Her Poké Ball arced through the air, releasing a hulking Haxorus. The dragon's roar shook the courtyard, its tusks gleaming.
Lance's brow furrowed. "A Champion-tier Pokémon?"
Bass smirked. "Indeed. Miss Akabi is my… insurance. Leave now, or don't." The unspoken threat hung heavy—while royal blood protected the hall's occupants, Lance held no such immunity.
Dismay rippled through the incense hall's defenders. The guard captain stepped forward, teeth gritted. "Lance, I'll assist—"
Lance raised a hand, cutting him off. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. "Aoki, must I do all the work?"
The crowd parted, revealing Aoki lingering at the rear. His focus had been on Team Flare's involvement—Akabi was one of their lead scientists, her presence signaling Lysandre's encroachment into historical secrets. What relic could compel such interest?
Lance extended a fist. With a resigned sigh, Aoki bumped it.
"One opponent each?" Lance asked.
Aoki spread his hands. "I'd rather not. You know my situation."
Lance's grin turned wolfish. "Too late."
With that, he hurled another Poké Ball. Gyarados materialized beside Dragonite, both surging toward Bass's Pokémon.
Aoki remained still, locking eyes with Akabi. She waited, expecting his move, but he simply… stared.
As Lance and Bass clashed, Aoki's inertia drew baffled glances. The hall's residents clung to hope—if Lance trusted him, he must be formidable. Yet Aoki's mind raced elsewhere.
Akabi's presence confirms Lysandre's hand in this. But what's here? And why now? Aoki thought about the strength of his Pokemon currently.