Weeks turned into months.
Pinky trained the slime sisters the way Izak had trained him: strict, demanding, uncompromising. He corrected their stances. He punished sloppy footwork. He drilled forms until their arms screamed.
"Again," he seemed to say with every gesture. "Faster. Cleaner. Again."
Sometimes, they cried.
The physical pain was nothing. They could regenerate. But the memories the training stirred up were harder to heal. The way Pinky positioned himself behind them to correct their grip reminded them of other hands, other grips. The intensity of his gaze felt like the stares of men who had used them.
When they froze, when panic took over, Pinky waited.
He didn't push. He didn't demand. He simply stood nearby, patient, until they were ready to continue.
"He's not like them," Lizy would remind her sisters. "He's teaching us to fight back. So no one can hurt us again."
One day, Pinky discovered something.
He had gotten careless during a sparring session. His training sword moved too fast, caught Mimi's arm at a bad angle. The limb separated completely, falling to the ground.
Pinky froze in horror.
Mimi laughed.
"It's okay!" she said, picking up her arm and pressing it back to the stump. It reattached in seconds, seamless. "See? Good as new!"
"That's how we survived," Lizy explained, seeing his confusion. "No matter what they did to us, we could always regenerate. It's why they didn't care how rough they were. They knew we wouldn't die."
"It's both a blessing and a curse," Wixi added quietly. "We can't be killed easily. But that means the pain just... keeps going."
Pinky absorbed this information. Then he adjusted his training methods. If they could regenerate, he could push them harder. Not cruelly, but efficiently. They could handle more than normal fighters.
Their progress accelerated.
***
Three months in, Pinky assigned them weapons.
For Lizy, the sword. She was analytical, strategic, patient. The blade suited her measured approach to combat.
For Wixi, the bow. Despite her aggressive personality, her eyesight was exceptional, and she had steady hands when she calmed down. Range would keep her safe while letting her protect others.
For Mimi, the axe. It seemed wrong at first, giving the smallest, most timid of them the heaviest weapon. But Mimi had something the others lacked: explosive power when cornered. The axe would let her channel that desperate strength.
"These don't feel right," Wixi complained, testing the weight of her bow. "I wanted a sword like Big Sister."
Pinky shook his head. He mimed her trying to fight close-range, then getting hurt. Then he mimed her shooting from a distance, protecting her sisters from afar.
"He's saying you're better as support," Lizy translated. "You can cover us from behind. Keep enemies away before they reach us."
Wixi grumbled but accepted it.
***
Sometimes, at night, Pinky found himself imagining.
What if he brought Zilvie here? They could live in this forest, away from the Knight Village, away from missions and duty. He could train her properly, help her grow stronger. She could meet the slime sisters. They would like her, he thought. She had the same determined spirit.
But the fantasy always ended the same way.
He had a mission. A duty. The Demon Queen waited. Just like she had waited for his father. His mother. His teacher.
He couldn't run from that.