Wagons, planks of wood, hay, and tar.

Twenty-four hours.

In less than twenty-four hours, he had to figure this out.

Logan paced from end to end, running his hand through his long bangs, his boots digging lines in the dirt path as he peered from item to item. It was a tactician trial… that meant tactics. He doubted he had to create a strategy as detailed as the Art of War; but he had to win, and he had to do it smart. The best Logan could do at warfare was what he’d picked up from watching movies and reading textbooks in college; he was so far away from an expert that it was laughable, so he was at a severe disadvantage.

Still, thinking about what he was up against, Logan hated to judge someone’s intelligence based on their behavior, but Thorin and Errol didn’t seem as if they’d have a master’s grasp on tactics. Logan could imagine them storming into the battlefield and brute forcing their way through their opponents. That would get them XP and a speedy end to the trial, but that wouldn’t get them a victory.

Why had the System given them an army at all if the goal were to kill as many as possible? If that were the intent of the trial, the System could have just thrown them in there with hundreds of NPCs and said have at it. Instead, it had given them an army. An army that they were supposed to lead to victory.

That was two opponents down that he was confident he could beat.

Asthea and Arsen were his real adversaries. As a princess, Asthea would have been taught how to lead. As Asthea’s advisor, Arsen must have experience. He’d been put in that position for a reason. Plus, there was the culture factor. Unlike on Earth, if clans dominated their society, it must be naturally bloodthirsty. Comparing Arsen and Logan was like comparing apples to oranges. Before the System Integration, he’d had an office job!

Asthea and Arsen were going to be tricky opponents. And yet, that meant Logan had a one in three chance of success. He could live with those odds.

Even better, there was one advantage that Logan had that Asthea and Arsen didn’t.

His spatial storage collar.

It was an S Grade item, an item that according to Asthea, wars had been fought over. He’d already figured out that the collar had more utility than storing items; he could sever things and store them. That’s where his strategy came into play. There was a massive wall right behind him just ripe for the pickings.

As for the sheer wall, from a quick glance, there didn’t appear to be any way to climb it. That meant the enemy shouldn’t be able to climb it either. But Logan had just received something that should let him jump like a fool, jump all the way to the top.

Logan had plans for the top.

So, smart.

Tactical.

The first thing he needed to do was to prepare his battlefield by giving his army every advantage possible.

“Zig,” he said, raising his voice.

The blob broke off from a group of five other blobs. Zig had been in the middle of dressing them down, his voice strident like a rock. Unlike what Logan expected, the other blobs were twitching in what looked like pleasure as he verbally abused them. Logan blinked, disturbed, and then purposely didn’t give that any further thought.

The blobs were naked except for their wide, thick belts, which held an old-fashioned flail. It had a wooden pole about the length of an ax and a chain attached to the end in which a spiky, lethal looking metal ball swung side by side. That might be how the evil blobs flayed the stragglers.

“Your orders, commander?” Zig said, eager. “What evil task will you set before me?”

Logan pointed to the wooden planks. “See those?”

Zig nodded his bulbous head.

“I want you to put together a group and start fastening those planks to the sides of the wagons. Stack them so a blob can just see over the top while standing inside a wagon, but leave space between the planks, enough for a weapon to slot through.”

Zig’s three saucer eyes blinked in confusion.

Logan tried again. “Space wide enough for your flails to fit through.”

Zig looked even more confused.

“You’ll need to take the boards and…”

More blank looks. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. Come here, I’ll show you.”

Logan led five blobs to the planks and instructed them to pick up a handful. Grabbing four boards and a fistful of nails and a hammer, he led the way to the first wagon and jumped inside. It had five cartons of tar. He didn’t bother moving them, just willed them into his spatial collar one after the other.

The blobs made sounds of awe.

“Your evilness!” swooned Zig.

Logan grimaced. “Yeah, evil power,” he said, deadpan.

Grabbing a board, he positioned it against the side of the wagon and then got ready to hammer it in place. The plank was about five feet in length and solid like an oak. “Like this.” Logan swung the hammer.

The problem was, he’d forgotten about his new strength.

The nail and nail bed went into the board—all the way through—and out the other side. The board cracked down the middle with a snap.

Oops.

“Er, not like that.”

Logan threw the broken plank over his shoulder. It shattered it against the sheer rock wall into splinters. Damn. He needed to watch his new strength.

For the next board, he made sure to gently hammer the nail so he could fix the plank to the outside of the wagon. “Next to it, I want you to leave space between the boards, about three inches in length.” Logan demonstrated the length by hammering another board in place. Now, the planks had increased the height of the wagon so that the blobs could stand and be protected by an incoming force, while still leaving enough space for them to jab their weapons through the holes in the shield.

The blobs made sounds of understanding.

“Great!” said Logan. “Do the same to all the wagons. Protection on the sides, enough space for you to insert weapons. Once that’s complete, we’ll push the wagons together, one next to the other to create an impenetrable wall.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The blobs fumbled the planks with their appendages. It took two of them to hold each plank, and two more to hammer the nails, but they’d get it done.

“Zig, I need you to do something else.”

The captain jumped to attention with an eager glint in his three eyes and slimed away from the wagon as Logan jumped to the ground.

“How can Žigžižižižgig be of service? Flaying, perhaps?”

“No flaying. I want you to put a group together and take that hay and bundle it into sections. Then dip each bundle into the jars of tar, covering them in the stuff until they’re drenched.” With a moue of concentration, Logan willed the remaining jars of clay that were inside the wagons into his spatial collar, and then deposited them on the ground next to the hay. “Fifty should do it.”

Zig made an excited wiggle as the clay jars appeared, a flush of red suffusing his chest in a splotchy pattern. “As you command!”

So far, so good. At least his army accepted his commands. Logan knew that in a real army that wouldn’t be the case. It would have taken months—even years—for him to build up their confidence and to demonstrate that he was someone worth following. If an army respected their commander, they’d follow them into battle without question. If an army loved and respected their commander, believing in their cause with a passion, they’d follow them into hell. “I’m leaving you in charge of the wagons and the hay.”

“What will you be doing, your evilness?”

“I’m going to scout out the enemy.”

***

Willing a bucket full of sand out of his spatial collar and reforming his armour was old hat by now. He could do it in less than a minute. Logan sculpted armour from his feet to his chest, then carefully covered his face and head.

He still hadn’t gotten used to that. His instincts rebelled. It felt like he was creating a face mask that could suffocate him to death, but instead, his airways filtered in clear air and his vision became more acute. He hadn’t deployed the mask since before the perception trial, and with his increased perception he could see even better than before. Almost too well.

Logan grimaced as he walked past a blob that was… could he say eating? Consuming? Its bulbous bottom slimed over a pile of raw meat and then somehow sucked it up.

Logan promptly turned his head and looked the other way. Well, at least the blob hadn’t seen him. He’d effectively made himself invisible. For all he knew, in their culture observing someone eat was taboo.

The suit wouldn’t last long—his Karma regeneration rate wasn’t high enough—but it should last long enough for him to pass into the enemy encampment without being observed.

Logan put on a burst of speed and raced past his own blob army as he travelled down the gorge. The sheer wall continued, no signs of habitation to be found. He had to have travelled at least a mile before he finally saw a hint of activity.

Logan slowed to a jog and then a brisk walk.

It was another blob army.

Unlike his, these blobs were gold with shimmering sparkling specks. They were smaller than his own at about five feet tall, and slimmer.

And yet they were still blobs.

Logan walked through the army, holding his breath, but they didn’t seem to pick up on anything amiss. The scent of vanilla wafted past his nose, and he got a sense of cheerfulness from the blobs, of brotherhood. They were humming a tune, their voices melodic and echoing as they practiced combat drills with swords that shimmered in the sun with an otherworldly glow.

Logan had to give the System credit, it had certainly made this trial black and white.

Logan’s army was evil, and his opponent was the opposite. All they needed were halos to complete the picture.

Creeping forward and darting around each cheerful blob, he advanced to the back of the army, looking for the egg. He kept glancing at the ground, expecting that he’d find the same snake pit, but he needn’t have bothered.

At the back of the army, a shelf jutted out of the sheer wall. A ledge etched into the rock. On the ledge was a golden pillow and on top of the pillow, unprotected, was the egg.

Logan raised an eyebrow underneath his facemask.

They may be angelic, but they were missing something short of a screw. That was unprotected to the ninth degree. He considered snatching it and making off with it by stuffing it inside his spatial collar, but he knew that wasn’t the way to win. That would be a Thorin way to win. The name of this trial was tactics. His army needed to win the battle, win it by being smart, and then Logan could think about stealing the egg.

But at least he knew what he was up against.

Logan wound his way back out of the army, weaving between singing blobs. As he left them behind and sprinted back to his army, Logan let his armour dissolve into sand before coming to a slow stop. His evil army already loved him, but there was no reason to stir the pot. Bumbling around like a fool in front of them wouldn’t inspire confidence. He needed to do this while out of sight.

Willing out the Pink Sock, Logan considered it. Unlike a regular sock, this one shimmered with an unnatural aura.

[1 Pink Sock. B Grade. Leaping, jumping, you have it all! The Pink Sock allows you to jump like the idiot you truly are. Gravity won’t get you down! The Pink Sock is part of an attribute set. Upon ownership of both socks, the jumping ability will turn into a floating ability.]

It should allow him to jump, but the problem was, he’d be doing it with one foot only, and he had no idea if he could jump high enough to reach the top of the gorge.

Hence the bumbling fool aspect of this.

Logan chose his right foot to start and then tugged on the sock. It was lightweight and slick against his skin. Latching onto the fallen sand around him, he reformed his boots, sculpting it over the sock. So far, so good.

Feeling high with nerves, Logan took a few steps, even steps, and walked like normal.

It was normal.

No jumping, no launching into the air.

Huh.

His muscles tight with tension, he crouched and then jumped as if he were doing skipping rope exercises.

Normal again.

What the hell?

How did this thing work? Did the System give him a dud Pink Sock?!

Scowling, Logan decided to take a running jog at the cliff wall and then lift off with his right foot, envisioning leaping as he went. His legs working overtime, his thighs corded in tension, Logan—

“OH SHIT!”

It wasn’t a dud! He’d launched himself into the air like a boomerang, jumping headfirst into the wall, his face skidding against the jagged rock, his lips splitting, his nose cracking and spitting blood.

Ding!

[Idiot’s Paradox is level 28!]

Bouncing back to the ground and landing on his ass, Logan really did feel like a fool. Sheepish and feeling a prickling along the back of his neck, he wiped away the blood on his face with the back of his hand.

Damn, it was a good thing he hadn’t tried this in front of anyone else. Asthea would be laughing her ass off if she could see him now.

And yet… although Logan felt sheepish, all in all, bashing his face against a sheer stone wall was tame in comparison to some of the other ways he’d advanced [Idiot’s Paradox]. Better yet, he hardly felt anything. The pain was faint, numb, as if he’d given himself a minor bruise rather than splitting his lip and slamming his nose against a sheer wall. Before the System Integration, if he’d run face-first into a wall, you bet your ass he would have been driving himself to the hospital. He wouldn’t be giddy at the absurdity of the situation.

Logan would take feeling like a fool if it meant he were advancing, upgrading a skill level, and mastering a technique.

Getting to his feet and brushing off the dirt from his legs, he considered his approach. Walking and jumping in place hadn’t activated the sock. It had only worked as he’d kicked off with his foot and envisioned himself leaping through the air.

Did this come down to visualization once again?

Testing his theory, Logan purposely didn’t think about jumping, envisioning himself walking in a straight line instead. He jumped in place.

Nothing.

He had it.

With a grin that had to be unhinged, Logan took another running leap at the wall and visualized himself launching into the air, his backfoot shooting him up as if he’d just jumped on a trampoline. Laughing in euphoria, Logan soared through the air, wind whipping his face, only to scramble at the last minute, his arms swinging like windmills as he tried to maintain his balance.

Yeah, he was going down.

Still, even as he fell to the bottom of the gorge and stumbled to an uneven landing, he laughed. Laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He was in a trial, prepping to lead an army of blobs to victory, using a pink sock to jump into the air. If Lara could see him now, she’d be wondering if he’d drunk a vat of that purple cough syrup water.

Yet it was undeniable that Logan was having fun. He wasn’t flying, but it was the next best thing. Logan was Iron Man, he was the Flash, and now he was Superman! With an excited shout, his insides vibrating with euphoria, he took another run at the wall, lifting with his right foot, envisioning himself launching into the air and soaring, soaring so high he’d reach the stars.

Holy shit, hell yeah!

Logan flew through the air, jumping what had to be fifty feet at least, then scrambled up the wall, kicking his feet, jumping and climbing. With a grunt of effort, kicking off with his foot again and envisioning himself flying, he scaled the wall like a rocket.

And just like that, Logan was at the top of the gorge.