The Warming Island, Part II

Chester had tried making a few simple pairs of shoes. However, none of them were fit for traversing the rugged forest, so he decided to put a bit more thought into his next attempt.

"Honestly, those bark sandals were awful," Monia complained.

"Really?"

"Yes. They tear the moment you walk on rough terrain. And because they're so thin, I can feel every single pebble and root. My soles are aching."

"You should have said something."

"Well, what do you plan on making them out of this time?"

"Hmm? I was thinking of just weaving some grass and rope together."

"Ugh. Won't that hurt?"

"It might at first, but once the soles compress and mold to the shape of our feet, it'll be fine."

Monia thought of the animal hides they had thrown away every time they caught game.

"What about leather?"

"Leather needs to be tanned so it doesn't rot. Do you know how to do that? Because I don't."

"Ah... so that's why you just threw them away?"

"Yeah."

Upon returning to their shelter, Chester immediately set to work making the shoes.

"So, how are you going to make them?"

"I'm not sure. I've never actually learned how to make shoes either."

He had been told to always pack spare shoes when heading into the woods, but no one had ever told him to go make a pair from scratch if he forgot them. His father used to say that any fool who didn't understand the importance of good footwear—the very thing that allowed one to roam the forest with peace of mind—had no business stepping foot in the woods in the first place.

Chester carefully set aside his dress shoes, whose soles had completely peeled off, and fetched some of the firewood he had left outside. He had been storing the logs by tying them in bundles and hanging them from tree branches.

In addition, he had organized various types of branches—thick ones, thin ones—by hanging them in different spots around the treehouse.

After cutting a log to match the size of his foot, Chester shaved it down into a flat, rectangular shape. Then, he began wrapping it with a loosely braided rope, intentionally keeping it soft to act as cushioning.

"This should do it."

This way, it wouldn't be as stiff as walking on bare wood, allowing them to walk longer distances. The rope would also act like the treads on a shoe sole, increasing friction to prevent them from slipping.

"Where are you going to attach the straps?"

"I'll have to drill holes in the wood."

Chester unraveled the rope he had temporarily wrapped around the wooden block and retrieved a nail. It was a nail he had originally lashed to one of his harpoons. However, since they had started using the fish traps, the need for harpoons had naturally decreased, so he had dismantled all but one.

Placing the nail against the wooden sole, he tapped it with a stone at the desired spots to start the holes. Once he had punctured the wood, he brought over his hand drill to widen them.

Previously, the drill had been nothing more than a sharp, broken stone lashed to a stick. But after finding a stone suitable for use as a whetstone, he had ground down the drill bits into clean, sharp points. He had even made a variety of them in different sizes depending on the width of the hole he wanted to bore.

Will this thickness be enough?

Chester widened the holes to a suitable diameter and threaded a cord through them to fashion the straps. Next, he wrapped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the loosely braided rope around the sole, tucking the ends into the holes to secure both the cushioning and the straps firmly in place.

"Oh! How is it? How does it feel? Is it comfortable?"

Chester slipped on the newly crafted wooden sandal. Finding the fit surprisingly decent, he nodded in satisfaction.

"Now you try making one."

"Okay."

When first asked to make things, Monia had worried whether she could actually do it, but she had changed a great deal since then. This was because Chester had constantly drilled a certain philosophy into her head whenever he tasked her with crafting.

Don't overcomplicate crafting. It's enough to just use what you have on hand, what you can find, and mimic the basic shape. Overthinking it and letting your hands freeze is the real problem. Once you have an idea, just try it. Doing something ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is a hundred times better than doing nothing.

Thanks to Chester's persistent brainwashing, Monia not only jumped at his tasks without hesitation but had also developed the initiative to try making things on her own.

While Monia worked on her shoes, Chester resumed crafting his knife.

"By the way, what is that? Why are you putting so much effort into making it?"

"Hmm? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Oh, I think I can make this one surprisingly sharp. Since I'm doing it anyway, I might as well put some care into it."

"To be honest, the scraping sound of you grinding that knife late into the night is really noisy."

"Is it?"

"Yes. It's grating."

"I suppose it could be."

Acknowledging her complaint, Chester nodded and looked out the window. Outside, a dense canopy of branches stretched out before him. As he stared at them, an idea suddenly struck him.

"……Should I build a workshop over there?"

Chester pointed toward a spot he had previously considered as a potential site for their shelter.

"What?"

At his sudden suggestion, Monia followed his finger and looked out the window, letting out a confused sound. Chester elaborated.

"A workshop-slash-storehouse, you could say."

"So suddenly? Is it really necessary?"

"Well... honestly, even in this house, the firewood takes up so much space that it's getting hard to store other things, isn't it?"

At his words, Monia looked around. In one corner sat a basket. Next to it were a stone axe and a stone knife. A harpoon lay neatly on the floor, alongside a massive pile of ropes and cords they had spent so much time making.

On the opposite side were smoked meats and the dried blue berry paste Chester had prepared. There were also piles of leaves, roots, bark, seeds, and petals that Chester had gathered, claiming they could be used as medicine.

Another corner was packed with bamboo water canteens. On top of that, a large fire pit occupied the center of the room to prevent the surrounding structure from catching fire, and moss was laid out around it to serve as their bedding.

Indeed, the treehouse, which had felt spacious at first, was gradually becoming cramped. They simply hadn't noticed because they left early in the morning to spend most of their day in the forest, by the river, or at the Beach Villa.

"We certainly have accumulated a lot of things."

"Right? If we keep gathering more, we'll end up having to sleep curled up like shrimp."

"Ugh, I'd hate that."

"So, let's build a storehouse."

"……Alright, fine. But even if we build a storehouse, won't we have to climb up and down the trees just to go back and forth between them? That sounds incredibly inconvenient."

"That's the easy part."

Chester grinned, tracing a line in the air with his finger from their current shelter to the proposed site of the workshop.

"We'll build a bridge."

"A what?"

In the kingdom where Chester and Monia came from, the Floating Island was known as an ominous execution ground for nobles. However, that was strictly the perspective of their homeland.

While some viewed this mysterious, drifting landmass with dread, others regarded it with a sense of wonder.

There was a religious sect that revered the Floating Island as a sacred birthplace of the gods. Meanwhile, rumors of El Dorado sleeping within its shores had driven countless adventurers out to sea, only to end up as food for the fish.

Archaeologists searched for it, believing the remnants of an ancient civilization lay dormant there. Others hunted it down on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠commission from eccentric millionaires and powerful figures who wished to 'own' the Floating Island.

Or, there were nomadic sea tribes who considered finding the Floating Island and surviving on it to be the ultimate 'trial of a hero.'

But the ocean was vast. No matter how massive and sprawling the Floating Island actually was, on a world map, it was nothing more than a tiny speck.

Furthermore, the Floating Island did not follow a fixed path around the globe. In Chester and Monia's kingdom, records existed of exiled nobles who had died of old age while waiting for the island to drift back near the kingdom's shores.

Even with countless people across the world searching for it, only a microscopic fraction ever managed to reach it.

Yet, "microscopic fraction" still meant that, occasionally, someone did arrive.

"Could it be...! Is that the Wandering Island?!"

And this man was one of those rare, fortunate few.

After wandering the open sea in a small rowboat equipped with nothing but basic exploration gear, he had finally laid eyes on the Floating Island.

It had been six months since he abandoned his home and job, spurred by the dreams detailed in his grandfather's journal, which he had stumbled upon by chance. There were days he had wept in despair over the undiscovered island, deeply regretting his choices, and countless times he had nearly perished in the unforgiving sea.

"Ha... Hahaha! I found it! I actually found it! Do you see this?! I'm the one who found it! Me!"

Overwhelmed by the thrill of finally discovering the Floating Island, the man shouted at the top of his lungs, jumping around wildly.

"Ah! Now is not the time for this!"

Once his initial excitement subsided, the man unfurled his sail and rowed with all his might to catch up to the drifting island.

Upon reaching the Floating Island, he scrambled frantically onto its sheer cliffs.

Scaling the cliffside with the tools he had brought from home, he secured a rope—which was tied to his boat on one end—firmly to a tree near the edge.

"Perfect."

Having ensured his boat wouldn't drift away, the man marched proudly into the dark interior of the Floating Island. Though, for a brief moment, anxiety and fear froze his steps.

Recalling the words of his grandfather's journal that had set his heart ablaze, he summoned his courage and stepped deeper into the island.

The kingdom of God! Divine treasure! I'll claim it all for myself!

Of course, his grandfather's journal hadn't actually contained a single mention of "divine treasure."