Deep inside the cave.
Possessing the gnoll skeleton, Slag pointed a finger bone back and forth at the pile of oversized heads crowded together.
"56...57..."
Its bald skull tilted, and its cervical vertebrae creaked.
"58... Hmm? Didn't I count this one already?"
For Slag, counting was clearly much harder than beating the frogmen into submission.
It scratched its skull in frustration, making a dry, grating sound.
At its feet stood a pudgy yellow frogman only as tall as its waist.
The frogman had proved its worth in the previous cave, eagerly volunteering to help Slag command its fellows, who couldn't understand human speech.
Now it held a thick branch it had picked up somewhere and pointed it at its companions, croaking wildly like a foreman.
In the middle of the cave, eight frogmen huddled together, their faces filled with despair.
They were all more or less injured. Some had half their faces swollen from being struck with the flat of a blade; some had arms bent at strange angles; others had cuts on their legs, oozing viscous fluid.
After all, Slag was careful to control its strength.
It constantly remembered its Mistress's order: it wasn't to kill them.
Under the direction of that "toady" frogman, the hapless captives clumsily used waterweed ropes to tie their own hands to those of their companions.
One of the smaller frogmen was too slow, so it got smacked with the branch.
"Kwa..." It had just started to beg for mercy.
"Kwa! Kwa-kwa!"
The yellow frogman immediately jumped up and smacked it over the head again. The frogman saw stars, and the yellow one turned to fawn on the giant skeleton beside it.
Slag's soul flame flickered, conveying its approval.
"Never mind. Mistress's Mistress only told me to gather them up. She didn't say I