Logan had to calm himself down as he materialized in the gorge in front of his army. Going off half cocked wouldn’t get him anywhere.

He was fired up and ready to get started, but based on Asthea’s trial, the System would award him for motivating his army. He’d seen historical movies where the general paced up and down, shouting and stirring their soldiers to a fever. However, the reality of historical battle was much darker.

Many times, the army behind a leader were conscripted soldiers, mercenaries, or even worse—indebted serfs. A commander spouting a rousing script was like a fool trying to lead soldiers who were secretly rolling their eyes. There were exceptions to that rule: commanders who were leading a cause that everyone believed was just.

Logan’s blob army considered him powerful; he’d fooled them by removing items from his spatial collar and by drilling the tunnels. Whatever you wanted to say about the System’s arbitrary ‘evil’ and ‘good’ label, his army was different than him. For him to motivate them into a furor, he’d have to appeal to what they considered desirable. Talking about pummeling the enemy just for the sake of winning wouldn’t do it.

Logan had to think like an evil squishy blob.

“Commander,” said Zig, his appendages wiggling in excitement. “You’ve returned!” He turned to the other blob soldiers and shouted, “The evilness has returned!”

Murmurs went up and down the line as the blobs slimed closer with bulbous twists of their bodies.

Logan looked over his army. The blobs were a swarm of grey with black specks, their three bottomless eyes like saucers, their appendages moving as if doing blob sign language. Half of them had their flails hooked into their belts, which made them look like potatoes with long sprouts.

They looked excited that he’d returned, but he needed to work them into a fever. “Zig, gather everyone around.”

“Yes, your evilness!”

Logan paced back and forth, his boots crunching over the gravel. The sun was bright in a clear blue sky, giving him an unobstructed view of the gorge. Running a hand over his stubble, he considered the best way forward.

Well, if the blobs were motivated by flaying, they wouldn’t be motivated by a righteous cause. Just eliminating the ‘good’ army wouldn’t make them excited. He needed to appeal to something else.

“Blobs!” said Logan, raising his voice. “The enemy is coming! We’re going to war!”

The blobs made half-hearted enthusiastic noises.

Zig swayed side by side like a bowling ball. “War! We’re going to war!”

I appreciate the encouragement, Zig.

Logan put his hands on his hips and gave them a severe glare. Reverse psychology might win them over. “If we’re victorious, I’ll be enraged. I’ll take it out on each and every one of you.”

As one, the blobs’ eyes opened wide as they shivered in place.

Good, but not quite enough.

“Each one of you will receive special attention! Ah… well.” Logan held back a grimace. “A… flaying.”

Gasps went through the line. The blobs leaned forward, their bulbous bottoms trailing slime. Whispers started to break out, and a blob with a raspy voice said, “Did the evilness say that we’d receive a flaying?”

“A flaying?” said another.

“Flaying?”

Logan needed to end this with something that would grab their attention, something that was undeniably… evil. He had only one thing that could work.

Now that he knew the Silverdagger Clan were watching his every move, Logan had made careful calculations. He couldn’t remove anything from his spatial storage that wouldn’t fit in a backpack worth of space… to be safe, maybe even less than that. But his Cursed Rope was a skinny, frayed thing when it was in its inert form. Logan was betting that they wouldn’t question his ‘garbage grade’ spatial storage fib if he removed it.

With a blink, Logan willed it out of his collar. He had one second to look down at the familiar sight of the frayed brown fibre before…

Holy fucking shit!

The Cursed Rope came alive.

It had swelled to the size of an anaconda, its width three times the size of his forearm. It lashed itself back and forth in Logan’s grip, crackling with blue electricity, and… it had a mouth. Fragments of rope fibre fell to the ground as it attacked the air like a snapping turtle.

Glee glee glee. Too much put away; too much put away. Slash bite eat. Glee glee glee.

Secreting acid coated the inside of its gaping mouth. It had no teeth—instead, its mouth was composed of knotted fibres, not flesh. The mouth was the size of a small…

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

It…

It couldn’t be.

Not just a snake. It would be just like the System to give him a snake for a weapon. No, this thing was more like a reptile, more like…

It looked like a dragon’s maw.

Fucking hell.

It had evolved. The last time this happened, he’d been in the middle of the flying snake swarm, and the rope had turned into a flying acid rope because he’d leveled up halfway through the fight. Since then, he’d leveled up even more in the fight with the queen serpent’s undead larvae, not to mention the increases he’d made to his attributes in this trial.

The user has gotten strong; the user has gotten strong. Pride pride pride. The user was beginning to match the rope’s prowess, glee glee glee. Kill everything in sight! Glee glee glee.

This thing kept surprising him.

Logan sent one thought at the rope, trying to communicate with all his might: Don’t eat the squishy grey blobs. They’re friends. I’ll feed you, just not with these. Friends.

The rope crackled with electricity and tried to fly away, straining in his grip. Slash bite eat.

Friends, Logan sent. I’ll let you be a glutton; I’ll give you a feast you haven’t seen since the flying snakes. Just behave.

It petulantly settled down, no longer trying to get away as it slithered back and forth in the air.

Logan raised his voice. “Behold! My mighty flaying rope!” Lashing his wrist, he let the rope crackle through the air like a whip. “Bring me victory, blobs! And this will be your fate!”

The blobs watched the rope with wide eyes, a bated pause filling the gorge.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Then with an explosion of excitement, they screamed in euphoria, jumping up and down, their eyes fervent in their devotion. They bounced against each other like sumo wrestlers, knocking their heads together, their appendages wiggling as they danced in place. “Victory! Flaying! Victory! Flaying!”

Aww man. “Zig, get everyone into position.”

Zig was eyeing the Cursed Rope like it was the answer to his evil prayers. “Yes, your evilness!” he said, his voice breathy with awe.

Motivate his army into a fervor—check that off the list.

On to the next.

Winning.

In the distance, he could already see the enemy advancing, his high perception picking up a hundred blobs as they slowly, slowly slimed towards their position. Their swords glinted in the sun, shining with an otherworldly aura. He could hear a faint sound, a murmur at first, that became clearer the closer they advanced.

They were singing.

A melodious, ear bleeding song. A cheerful song.

Ugh.

Logan was fed up with a lot of things—although he was grateful that he’d made so many advances in the attribute trials, he was stuck in an army trial he’d never wanted, forced to abandon Ernie, forced to run through hoops to escape to the real world.

After learning about the skill rings, violence was thrumming underneath his skin. But since he was in a trial that was all about strategy and tactics, the glitchy AI minion was once again trying his patience by presenting him with the most annoying enemy possible—and yet Logan could do nothing but stew as he positioned his blobs.

The Cursed Rope was picking up on his anger, its electricity getting stronger, dancing over Logan’s skin like some kind of warped neon night club strobe light. Snapping its mouth, it was lunging at air and swaying back and forth like the tail of a cat that was getting ready to pounce.

Rope, Logan sent, I need you to settle down. You’re too much of a distraction. I need you to go back to your inert form so I can loop you over my shoulder.

Too much put away; too much put away, responded the rope, communicating a smugness as it resisted his command.

Logan frowned. He suspected that if it came down to it, he could deploy [Life Cycle Master] on the thing to make it do what he wanted, but Logan wanted a willing sentient weapon, not a weapon that would feel betrayed if he overrode its will. After all, he’d persuaded the insects to do what he wanted, but eventually, they’d pushed back when it went against their nature. I won’t put you away if you behave. That’s a promise.

Reluctance came from the rope. Distrust.

Logan began to feel more than annoyed—he felt hurt. When he made a promise, he kept that promise. If the rope was his bonded weapon, it should know that.

But now you really will keep your promise, responded the rope, communicating glee glee glee right before it shifted and became less violent, its motions calming, its rope fibres shrinking, electricity disappearing as it shrunk back to its inert, skinny form.

Logan rolled his eyes and looped it around his shoulder. He’d been reluctant to take out the rope around other people, but if he could come to an agreement with it, it would be hell of a useful thing—something that looked harmless that could turn into a springing cobra at the slightest chance of a threat. Not to mention its ability to level up.

The enemy was getting closer, their cheerful singing grating like nails on a chalkboard, stirring his blood. He wanted nothing more than to charge in there and end this once and for all.

Logan had to take a deep breath.

Patience.

Just like he’d told the rope, he’d get his chance to let go.

Meanwhile, Zig had returned, his eyes drifting to the Cursed Rope with longing.

Logan shifted the rope and eyed the wagons that were in a curved line in front of the end of the gorge. The blobs had already tucked the tarred hay bundles underneath the wagons for easy access, planks with fastened handles covering the sight. Ten blobs were standing in each wagon, their heads visible. Looking like easy targets.

That’s what Logan wanted.

“Zig, is everything ready?”

The blob nodded his head. “Yes, your evilness.”

“Remember, we need to lure them in and get as many into this area as possible. Make sure that our soldiers look like they’re scared. Have them hide behind the wagons, unorganized.”

“All is taken care of,” said Zig with pride. “We will look weak. Very, very weak!”

“Good, because the enemy is here.”

Logan tugged on one of Zig’s appendages and dragged him to the side and over to the space they’d left for someone to pass behind the wagons. They both ducked behind the line and then peered into the gorge.

Facing them were a line of golden blobs who held up their shimmering swords and shouted as one.

Faintly, Logan could hear someone with a melodious voice saying, “Hah hah hah! Not just evil, but stupid! They’re hiding behind a wall of wagons! Do they think that will protect them from our blessed swords?”

Another voice chimed in, “Let’s lead them to paradise, boys!”

“Paradise! Paradise! Paradise!”

Logan nodded his head at his own blob army. At his signal, he had them bounce up and down as if in panic. “Oh no!” said an evil blob. “Whatever shall we do? Their army is so majestic and powerful! We’re dooooomed!”

The other blobs let out defeated sighs and sagged, hanging their heads. Some hung over the sides of the wagons like limp noodles, their appendages twitching in place.

Logan winced. That might have been putting it on a little much.

“Hah hah hah!” responded the majestic blob from across the gorge. “This will be an easy mop up, boys! Let’s lead these evil blobs to paradise where they belong!”

“I’d rather lead you to hell,” Logan muttered.