With his sword at his side and the old man's bag slung over his shoulder, Mike stepped into the woods, moving carefully.

He didn’t want to stray far from camp, but he needed to look around, to make sure no dangers were close to their temporary stop.

Cinder had told him about the giant spiders that liked to hide in the ground. He remembered her words as he looked closely at where he stepped, staying away from spots that looked like they might hide these creatures.

Webbing on the ground was a telltale sign, proof that he wasn’t the only one using tripwires to detect enemies.

Turning his attention to the trees, Mike surveyed the lush, tropical canopy overhead, noting the abundance of low-hanging branches draped in a thick tangle of vines and leaves.

With measured movements, he began to harvest these branches, slicing through the accessible leaves to gather a substantial pile. These would serve as their bedding, offering a semblance of comfort against the hard ground.

Then he gathered all the firewood he could carry and filled his satchel with medicinal plants and edible mushrooms.

In his many lives, Mike had learned how to survive, remembering how to distinguish plants that would be good even if there were slight differences in them.

This world was very different from what he was used to, but most of the trees and plants appeared to be the same.

Completing a circular loop around the camp, Mike's sharp eyes caught sight of a fortuitous discovery — a tree, broken and battered by the elements, its wood dry and perfect for their needs.

He quickly gathered what he could, the brittle wood breaking easily into manageable pieces that would serve well to feed their fire.

The sun was starting to set by the time he finished, but luckily, dinner was already taken care of. The slave traders had packed enough food for themselves and their cargo.

It was hard bread and dried meat, something that Mike’s spoiled taste buds would not appreciate, but he’d seen enough hard times to know how to be grateful.

As Mike made his way back to the camp, he watched as Cinder worked. The horses were grazing peacefully within the boundary of the tripwire he had constructed earlier.

It looks like she worked pretty well. She had watered and fed the horses, as Mike had asked, and was now in the process of removing the remnants of the dead slimes.

"Good job with the horses," he said while depositing the bag in the middle of the camp.

Cinder looked up, her expression one of muted surprise, a slightly flustered look growing, "T-thank you, Master."

Before doing anything else, he removed his shirt. He had kept it on as an added layer of protection in case anything attacked him, but the blood had hardened into a hard crust, and he was glad to be able to take it off finally.

Had he known he would reincarnate like this, he would have gone home and shoved the knife himself, preferably after stuffing his pockets with valuable tools.

Mike caught Cinder's repeated gaze on him, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and something he could easily place. It reminded him of how a cat watches something it's never seen before, intrigued and cautious all at once.

He realized she was observing his muscles, something about them evidently novel to her.

It didn't take long, based on his experience, to know the reason. In the countryside, the harshness of life demanded physical strength, leading men to develop robust upper body naturally. However, his physique stood out, not just for its size but for its definition.

More defined, as he had focused on improving the endurance and looks of his muscles instead of just chasing after the vague definition of strength. The lean build of the latest century.

After Cinder placed the last slime outside the perimeter, he motioned her, "Come here and follow me."

He laid out his shirt under the waterfall, directing the spray right onto the blood stains before her gaze.

He pinned them down with stones so they wouldn’t be washed away.

"Take off your clothes."

Her response was a little late, but then her conditioned reflex, born of years of obedience, soon overcame whatever she was feeling. It didn't escape his notice, and he noted it about his new supposed slave.

"I shall do my best to satisfy you, Master." Her voice was a ghost of a whisper, laced with a resignation.

His eyes twitched hearing her words. How many times she had heard that before… Nevermind.

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. "Not like that. Put that dress of yours here under the waterfall. Do the same with all the clothes we removed from those slave traders."

As Cinder disrobed, the tattered fabric that had once pretended to be a dress fell from her in a heap. The garment was little more than a patchwork of holes and rags, and a strip of cloth for a belt barely serving its purpose.

Beneath, her body told years of neglect. Malnourished and scrawny. He observed her physical body with a practical assessment of what could be improved, polished, and transformed.

But his gaze didn't linger long. Turning, he entered the waterfall and scrubbed himself from the cloth he had brought along. Using the dirt behind the waterfall, a quick scrub removed all the crested blood.

In that time, Cinder had brought all the blood-soaked clothes

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"Also, wash yourself using the cloth and the dirt; it would at least remove the stink."

After leaving her to clean herself, he recalled what he had noticed. Not used to compliments. With little shame. Trauma related to sex. But following the commands perfectly. At least with her upbringing, he could quickly train her.

Maid will be easy. If she is good then secretary. But if she had to stay with me, she needed to be trained in more exotic skills. Maybe an assassin. Her petite body would be perfect to mold into an assassin. But he had to check if she had any talent.

With the last of the light, he searched the river for stones. He tested their hardness, striking them against the back of his sword. Once he started getting sparks, he returned to the riverbank and gathered some tinder.

He ground some dry birch bark into fine dust and struck the rock against his sword over it. It took several attempts, but some sparks landed in the dust and went up like gasoline.

There were some secondary clothes left, simple trousers and shirts. Also, a second robe for the mage.

Cinder approached from the direction of the river, her steps hesitant, her arms wrapped around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

Mike glanced up at her, his gaze sweeping over her with an assessment that was more clinical than anything. He noted the slight tremor of her limbs, the scars on her hands and thighs that were hidden earlier.

"Here, wear this," he said, his voice devoid of the warmth that the fire offered, as he tossed her a shirt that was far too large for her frame.

It was a plain garment, one of the few pieces of clothing that had been inside the wagon. Maybe of the guard.

Cinder caught the shirt, the fabric heavy in her hands. She looked at it, then at him, a silent question in her gaze. After a moment, she quickly donned the clothes. "Thank you, Master."

He turned his attention back to the fire, poking at the embers with a stick. "If you are going to accept me as your Master, we need to talk about your name,"

"My name, Master?"

"Yes," Mike replied, his gaze turning toward her. "I have no interest in a simple slave. If you want me to be your Master, you will dedicate your whole life to serve me. This is your last chance to be free from it."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely audible when she finally spoke. "I... I choose to be yours, Master."

Mike's response was a nod, sharp and brief. "Then from now on, you're going to be called Ember,"

After hearing his words, he heard her repeating the words.

"Why Ember, Master?"

Curious huh?

"Because," he began, his voice low, "like an ember, either I'm going to turn you into a flame, or you will be snuffed out."

She drew a deep, steadying breath. "Then I will become your flame, Master,"

They spent the night sitting beside the fire, eating rations while the moon passed overhead.

They sat on a makeshift bed of the leaves Mike gathered earlier, keeping them insulated, and they wrapped themselves in the canvas wagon cover.

Soon enough, the sun shining in his eyes awoke Mike from his sleep.

It was not a deep sleep due to his current circumstances, but he at least felt rested. It was his first dawn in this new world. As he started moving around, Ember slowly stirred.

"Master?" she murmured.

"Time to get up, we have work to do."

It was a chilly morning, so Mike built up the fire while Ember collected their clothes from the waterfall. After a night under the pounding water, they were clean as could be reasonably expected.

They were hung up to dry around the fire while Mike and Ember had breakfast.

"What do you want to do, Master? I can lead you to town if you like."

"How long would it take to get there?"

"Another three or four days."

About a hundred miles… Not knowing how many monsters would be along the way. Better to improve his chances.

"Hmmm, we’ll stay here for a bit longer. We have a defendable position, but if we return to the road, we’ll be exposed. While I believe in my fighting abilities, I can’t defend myself, you, and the horses. We’re going to spend today improving our chances."

“What should we do?”

“We’re going to make a lot of lye.”

“Lye?”

“It’s a substance gathered from ashes. First, what I need you to do is start collecting clay from the river. If you dig under the silt, you’ll find it. Make a big pile of it here next to me.”

As Ember went to the river and gathered clay, Mike started digging a hole using his sword and a metal skillet he found in the wagon.

Once he was done, he smoothed out the sides of the pit and then began slathering on the clay that Ember had brought.

Next, he built a second fire, putting it in the pit. Any leftover clay was turned into cups and bowls and put in the campfire to bake.

"Keep this fire going while I get more wood. You remember what to do if something attacks?"

"Stay as far as away and scream for you?"

"Good."

Mike departed, heading back into the forest. He had to gather firewood from specific trees, hardwoods but most of the trees here are similar so they would do. He moved cautiously, hearing movement all around him.

After checking the area again and returning to the broken tree, he hauled a substantial amount of it.

The fire was roaring when he came around, so after he left her to it.

Moving back and forth between the forest and the campsite.

By the time he was finished, the clay packed onto the sides of the pit had hardened and could retain water. He now had a functioning basin.

Mike handed tin the metal skillet. “Here, use this to shovel as much charcoal and ash out of the basin as you can, then fill it with water. Rain water would be best, but river water will have to do.”

As Ember went to work, Mike started collecting stones from the river and putting them in the campfire to heat up.

By the time Ember had finished with her task, the rocks were all sufficiently hot, and he moved them into the basin until it was boiling.

“Before we proceed, I need to warn you that what we’re doing is dangerous. This is going to produce toxic fumes, and we need to stay upwind so that we don’t breathe them in. The waterfall and the river are keeping the air moving in one direction. You got that?”

“Yes, Master.”

Mike started shoveling hardwood ashes from the campfire into the basin, and as time passed, he would swap out stones, ensuring the water was always boiling.

Soon, a film began to settle on top of the water. It was liquid lye, rising from the ashes. He and Ember harvested it from the surface, careful not to touch it, and put it in the skillet to boil away the moisture.

This process went on for most of the day. They kept burning birch and other hardwoods and shoveling the ashes into the basin. Once the basin stopped producing lye, they would swap in fresh ashes and water, get it boiling, and resume harvesting.

In the meantime, Mike created more pottery with the river clay and baked it in the fire. The skillet was routinely filled with the lye mixture, and once the water evaporated away, Mike would scrape the lye into one of his clay jars.

It was the middle of the afternoon when he declared that they had collected enough.

He collected a small bump with his knife and put it on his arm. He could feel it burning his skin like an aching sunburn. Had he taken his time with this, it would have burned a crater into his skin, but in this case, the quantity was better than quality.

“Yeah, this will work well. You did good,” Mike said, rubbing the top of Ember’s head.

“Thank you, Master,” she replied with what he assumed to be a rare smile.

“Let’s eat some lunch. I’m starving.”