Morning came with the soft crash of waves and the distant cry of gulls. The air was warm but fresh, carrying the faint tang of salt. Lazarus sat near the mouth of their shallow cave, a piece of driftwood in hand, idly poking at the embers of last night's fire. His mind clearly wasn't on breakfast.
How do we get off this island…?
The thought had been circling in his head since he woke, stubborn as the tide. The most obvious answer was also the most reckless—build a boat and take to the sea, just like Monkey D. Luffy had done when starting out.
The problem was, Luffy had the plot on his side. Lazarus had… a house-elf and a questionable stroke of luck.
He imagined it for a moment: a rough, single-mast boat creaking against the waves, sails snapping under a wild sky. Then came the darker images—towering waves in the middle of a Grand Line storm, the shadow of something massive sliding beneath the surface, and teeth flashing in the spray. The stories he remembered weren't exaggerations; sea kings were real here, and storms could tear apart even seasoned crews.
As an ordinary person in his previous life, one who rarely ventured into the sea or deep waters, he was in awe of the ocean. Its vastness, beauty, and mysteries often sent his imagination running wild—made all the stronger by the fact that drowning was his most feared way of dying.
He tossed the driftwood into the fire. No. Betting his life on luck is asking for a watery grave.
If they were going to survive long enough to find a real way off the island, they'd need a base that could last. He turned his gaze toward the island's interior—thick jungle, occasional patches of sunlit clearing, and the faint hum of insects. From what he'd seen yesterday, the island wasn't crawling with predators. In fact, the larger, more dangerous beasts seemed to keep to certain areas, deeper inland. As long as they avoided those territories, they were safe enough.
Still, that didn't mean they could be careless. Safety in the Grand Line was a fragile thing.
Lazarus leaned back against the cave wall, arms folded. "If we're stuck here a while, we make this place more than just a hole in a rock. We need better shelter, steady food, and a stockpile of fresh water. Once we're comfortable… then we can think about escape."
Food and water were easy to say. With Dobby's magic, gathering food and water is just as simple as flicking his fingers.
"Dobby can help build! Dobby can make beds! And curtains!" Dobby, who was listening on the side, quickly raised his hands, as if wanting to make his presence known and useful.
Lazarus allowed himself a faint smirk. "Beds and curtains, huh? Sure. But first… tools. We're not doing this with bare hands."
The ocean roared faintly in the distance, as if laughing at the idea of anyone thinking they could tame even a corner of its world.
. . .
It turned out Dobby's enthusiasm for building far outweighed his actual skill. By midday, the elf had proudly presented his first "structure"—a lopsided frame of sticks tied together with vines, leaning so far to one side that Lazarus wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a wall or an accidental wind chime.
"Ta-da!" Dobby declared, hands on his hips. "Dobby has built the strongest wall in all the seas!"
Lazarus stared. The frame swayed gently in the breeze. A gull landed on top of it, and the whole thing collapsed with a pitiful snap.
"…Yeah," Lazarus said slowly. "If by strongest, you mean fastest to fall over."
Dobby gasped, ears twitching in distress. "But Dobby worked very hard! Dobby even used the special knot he saw a sailor use once!"
"That sailor was probably tying his shoelaces," Lazarus muttered.
Still, he couldn't just shoot the elf down completely. Instead, he crouched beside the wreckage and began showing him how to anchor the base deeper into the ground and how to lash sticks at proper angles so they wouldn't wobble. Dobby listened intently, though his attempts often ended with the sticks snapping or vines tangling around his ears.
By the third attempt, Lazarus sighed. "Alright, new plan—use your magic. If you can float logs and rocks into place, we'll finish this in a day instead of a week."
Dobby brightened immediately. "Magic! Yes! Dobby will make the best house ever built on an island!" He clapped his hands, and tools, logs, and palm leaves began flying around them in a whirl of chaos.
Unfortunately, Dobby's definition of "faster" also meant "mildly hazardous." A beam whizzed past Lazarus's head close enough to ruffle his hair, and a saw buzzed past his elbow like an impatient insect.
"Oi! Watch it!" Lazarus barked, ducking under the chaos.
"Sorry, sir! Dobby is… very excited!" The elf squeaked, though his grin remained wide as ever.
Despite the chaos, Lazarus quickly realized Dobby wasn't just tossing magic around—he was adapting. With a few sharp instructions, Dobby learned to match the pace Lazarus set.
When Lazarus called for a log, it would arrive—perfectly angled, ready to be set down. When he reached for a tool, Dobby had already floated it into his hand. The little elf even noticed crooked joints or misaligned planks before Lazarus did, adjusting them midair with a snap of his fingers.
"Not bad," Lazarus muttered, genuinely impressed. "You've got an eye for detail."
"Dobby is learning, sir!" Wiping the sweat from his brow, Dobby spoke with pride.
Lazarus also felt exhausted now and decided to take a rest. Dobby might be disastrous with hard labor, but with his sharp eye for detail and his magic to back it up, they were able to turn chaos into something livable.
By sundown, the outline of a sturdy shelter, connected to the small cave, stood before them. The walls weren't perfect, and the roof was still a work-in-progress, but it was more than Lazarus had thought possible in a single day.
"As long as there's no large storm, this might actually survive for several nights."
Dobby puffed his chest with a satisfied grin. "It will survive many nights!"
For the first time since waking on this island, Lazarus felt something close to… contentment. They weren't just surviving anymore—they were starting to live.
Next, they continued arranging things inside the shelter, and after Lazarus was done, he stepped outside, his arms stretching out. The evening air was heavy with the scent of salt and damp leaves, the jungle buzzing quietly under the fading light.
Near the firepit, Dobby was stacking firewood with absent flicks of his fingers, logs floating neatly into place like pieces on a game board.
Lazarus watched him for a moment. For all his clumsy attempts at hammering sticks or tying knots, the elf's magic had a precision to it—logs landed exactly where they should, and leaves fluttered into the pile without a single misstep. Details, Lazarus noted. Dobby wasn't built for brute labor but for the finer touches.
"By the way," Lazarus said, stepping closer, "have you felt your magic way weaker than before? I'm not referring to tiredness, but your overall magic."
The question caught Dobby off guard. His ears twitched as the last log settled gently on the pile. He hesitated, brow furrowing. "Dobby… never thought of it. Most of us are refrained from using magic, sir. This was the first time I was free to use magic."
His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers curling slowly. "But… yes sir, Dobby feels my magic is smaller than before. "I—Is something wrong with me, Sir Lazarus?"
"Ah no, it's normal to feel that way. I just asked to confirm." Lazarus quickly shook his head and explained. "Once your body adapts to this world, you'll eventually recover your magic."
Based on the information the system provides him, every summoned will be weakened to some extent after crossing into this reality.
However, it's not a permanent thing, and they could recover their power as they adapt to the rule of this world. However, the stronger their capability to disrupt the balance of this world, the longer it takes for their power to return.
Even if they did recover, the power they could display would always be capped by the limits of what this world could sustain. This is why Lazarus doesn't think of relying on the system entirely.
While he could get powerful companions through the the system, Lazarus can't just put all his hope on this thing. Eventually, he needs to gather reliable companions native to this world.