Damn fine master.

"Ah, that place is good."

Standing by the water, I said, gazing at the hazy island in the distance.

"Is that island...?"

"Yeah, that one. Islands are great—surrounded by sea, makes it tough to attack. Pure natural fortress."

"I see."

"How do we get there, then?"

"There should be a boat among the things we can craft. Produce it with magic, emergency mode."

Recalling the boat was in the bronze card, I told them.

"Understood. We'll make it right away."

"Arisa will make it."

Mother and daughter slaves argued over who’d build the boat.

"Arisa’s my daughter, so this one’s for Mama."

"Mom always helps out, so she should get a turn too."

It was a rather sweet little argument. I tossed another ball in for good measure.

"Boats were definitely rowed with oars, right? Not making one would be better for getting across the shore."

"Oars."

"Rowing."

A soft, simultaneous swallow echoed from both of their throats.

"Mmm, I want to build a boat to help my older brother."

"But rowing oars would be more helpful."

They paused, both caught in thought.

The question— which was better— made me smile wider.

No rush. I quietly enjoyed the sight of these earnest mother-and-daughter slaves wracking their brains.

"If you're saying that, then it's a contest!"

"A contest?"

"Yes. Since rowing's about strength, we'll settle it with arm-wrestling."

"I accept."

The mother-and-daughter slaves began arm-wrestling on the beach.

The scene grew even more entertaining.

Of course, Rirya won. The strength of the mother-and-daughter pair matched their appearance exactly.

"Yay, that's it!"

"Can't be helped...?"

Arisa, though defeated, wasn’t too down about it. She pulled out her slave card and conjured a boat using magic alone.

The boat floated on the sea. The three of them climbed aboard.

"Here we go!"

Rirya, the last to board, grabbed the oar and started rowing.

The boat moved slowly, inching across the water until they reached the island.

"Huff... huff..."

Rirya, exhausted from rowing alone, collapsed.

"Good work. Here, take this."

"Thank you so much!"

—— Magic charge: 100,000.

On the way over, Rirya handed the origami medal to the girl. She beamed with delight.

"Jealous...!"

"Arisa, you’ll get one too if you keep at it."

"Yeah, I’ll try my best!"

A tiny Arisa gave a fierce thumbs-up, pumping herself up. Rirya smiled, encouraging her.

With mother and daughter in tow, they strolled through the island they’d just landed on.

A monster appeared.

“What… what is this?”

“It’s rotting… it’s just rotting…”

The mother and daughter slaves huddled together, trembling.

It was a monster in human form, but its body was decayed in places, so badly that it looked nothing like anything alive.

Leaving the two frozen in fear, it charged in without hesitation.

It shoved its right hand into the zombie’s mouth, then yanked hard—ripping it open from mouth to belly.

The zombie collapsed, split clean in half.

“Wasn’t much of a challenge. Movements were slow, too. Even Eluka was tougher than this.”

It was one of the weakest monsters they’d faced so far.

Power, speed, defense.

All were the lowest tier among monsters.

And yet… they kept coming.

One after another, from deep within the island.

Counting them roughly, there were nearly a hundred.

A force that’d likely wipe out a small village, with the terror of their appearance added in.

“Just clear them out for now.”

She kicked off the ground and charged straight into the zombies.

Punching. Kicking. Throwing. Folding them up.

One after another, she drove them back. Some were stronger than others—surprise, really.

One went from the usual groan to a charge that’d make Eluka proud.

Another, suddenly on a tree, leaping down with claws outstretched.

A third, thick as a sumo wrestler, spitting acid in torrents.

Variety was the name of the game.

She took them all down with bare hands.

By the time they were all gone, her arms were slick with zombie fluids and chunks of flesh.

Ew. Seriously gross.

“O-oh, big brother…”

“Papa-sama…”

My mother and daughter slaves called out to me. When I turned, I saw the two of them wearing faces so complicated it was almost painful to look at.

“Something wrong? You okay?”

“Yes, yes. But we should probably make a weapon soon.”

“Papa-sama’s strong… but… this is bad.”

“Huh? Ah.”

I looked at myself again. Yeah. Maybe this really was bad.

No—actually.

“Yeah. A weapon’s what we need.”

The Slave Sword, Eternal Slave.

Forged from Risha’s hair—gift of a slave—and reinforced with the bodies of slaves, my beloved blade had been shattered during the Holy Night assault.

I destroyed it myself, with my own hands, to break the Holy Night barrier that would not vanish until every single thing I’d made was erased.

It’s been like that ever since. And now, here I am—weaponless.

I gotta make a replacement, huh.