Sleeping So Soundly, No Wonder He's Called the God of Death. God of Life, I Brought You Stewed Noodles

After temporarily reaching a subtle, fragile "ceasefire agreement," Yan Yang and Volcanion could finally sit down and begin exchanging information.

Yan Yang cautiously edged a little closer. Though Volcanion was visibly uncomfortable and its steam vents hissed in displeasure, it thankfully did not erupt again and use him as a badminton shuttlecock.

"Hey, human brat, don't get so close! Aren't we still more than a meter apart?" Volcanion awkwardly shook its head.

"I'm worried the walls have ears and they'll eavesdrop on our plan," Yan Yang patiently explained.

After all, it would be bad if the bad guys overheard their plans. Better safe than sorry.

"Hmph! Put your mind completely at ease!" Volcanion disdainfully sprayed out a cloud of smoke. "The cursing hasn't stopped since I was locked in here! Unless those bastards got kicked in the head by a Tauros, they'd never want to monitor this room! Why would they torture themselves?"

That was actually true.

With Volcanion's nonstop "verbal artistry," the listeners' mental state would probably collapse before Volcanion's did.

Those villains were clearly not masochists. Giving up on monitoring this "source of noise" was the wise choice.

Yan Yang sighed in relief and began describing the situation with the Pokémon on the plateau, including how he treated the wounded, soothed their emotions, left Houndoom, Armorouge, and the others behind to help guard them, and how Larvitar had temporarily calmed down after being showered with attention.

After hearing everything, a flicker of barely noticeable satisfaction crossed Volcanion's large eyes. But it immediately felt that this did not fit its image as an "irritable victim," so it hurriedly put on a stern face and said stiffly:

"Mm... you did passably, I suppose. In light of your tiny contribution, when you're not doing something stupid, I can be... a little