The Biological Warfare of the Red-Bellied Frog

I let out a deep sigh as I watched the group of dwarves huddled together in a tent beyond the monitor, slurping down soup while oblivious to the terrifying K-Kappa threat lurking outside. "Seriously, the lack of a messenger—no, a Divine Oracle function—is painfully inconvenient."

It was maddening to watch them debate whether I was a "Wheel God" or some other nonsense, all while staring at the barcodes, text, and symbols on the items I had dropped for them. If I could just send a single, clear sentence—something that wasn't overly cryptic or pedantic—I could resolve their ridiculous misunderstandings in an instant. But the damn system wouldn't even allow that level of basic communication.

"Apostle, apostle! The Saintess won't sign the contract, so what do you want me to do!" I grumbled at the empty air. I had even tried to be clever, drawing pictures on paper or writing messages with a permanent marker to drop down, but the moment I tried to deploy an item with text on it, the system immediately flagged it as [Unauthorized Oracle] and blocked the transmission entirely.

"They’re disgustingly detailed when it comes to blocking ways to make a quick buck. How the hell am I supposed to run a business like this?"

I rested my chin on my hand and scrolled through the mini-map on the monitor. Regardless, I had to get that sturdy group of dwarves into the shelter of the Ruined Castle where Aria was holding out; that was the only way to achieve perfect defensive synergy. The terrain itself wasn't the main issue. The river surrounding the castle was slow-moving, practically a lake. Recently, the Kappa had been defecating in the crevices of the rocks downstream, clogging the flow like a backed-up sewer and deepening the water, but that only made the current even slower, like a swamp.

There was an old bridge the group had used to reach the castle walls. It was broken in several places, but if I dropped them a ladder, they could easily cross it—or even just wade through the shallow water—without much trouble. The real, lethal problem was the Kappa themselves. Hundreds of them were swarming around the broken bridge, and some were submerged under the pitch-black, polluted surface, waiting with their eerie, bulging eyes for any prey to dip a foot into the water.

The dwarves had their axes and hammers, plus the machetes and flamethrower sprays I’d provided, but trying to break through the water-bound ambush from the bridge would be suicide, even for those seasoned veterans.

"How do I wipe out those frogs in one go?" I paced in front of the monitor, mouse in hand. Should I make dozens of Molotov cocktails and drop them? Or maybe strap them to a drone for a carpet bombing run?

But I didn't have a surplus of soju bottles and gasoline in my room right now. Besides, the monsters were hiding underwater, so the flames wouldn't reach them effectively, and dropping attack items directly would drain my precious Divine Power points—a terrible return on investment.

"There has to be a way to dry out those amphibians without spending a fortune..."

I was observing the Kappa swimming in the river, showing off their slick, green skin, when a flash of inspiration struck me. "Wait... frogs? Frog skin is incredibly sensitive and vulnerable to chemicals. Hmm, should I dump some pesticide? No, the river is too wide; a bottle or two would just dilute, and they’d probably just cough once and be fine."

I needed something that wouldn't dilute, something that would feed on their skin while infinitely multiplying on its own.

"Poison... skin... infinite reproduction... Ah! The Fire-Bellied Toad!"

I sprang up like a spring, grabbed my smartphone, and began frantically searching the internet. I remembered an interesting biological fact I’d read on an online community years ago. The small, red-bellied toads common in the mountains of Korea. Their skin harbored a terrifying, symbiotic fungus that had pushed amphibians across the globe to the brink of extinction.

Looking at the list of extinct frog species and the gruesome photos of infected amphibians on my phone screen, I smirked. "This is it. No need for Molotovs or pesticides. They’re frog-monsters, and they have the perfect weakness of being amphibians that breathe through their skin."

What if I dropped a few—no, a crazy amount—of these fire-bellied toads into that stagnant river ecosystem? In that slow-moving, filthy water, the fungus would spread like wildfire across the Kappa's skin. The density of the monsters, constantly piling on top of each other, defecating, and rolling in the mud, was the perfect environment for a plague to run rampant.

"This is a custom-made biological weapon for Eden. It’s cheaper than a bomb and far more lethal than pesticide." I tapped away at my phone screen, laughing with the madness of a scientist. Of course, I wasn't unaware of the terrible consequences of introducing an invasive species into an ecosystem. Just look at the rivers and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lakes in Korea. Thanks to some reckless anglers who smuggled in bass and bluegill for the thrill of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the catch, the native fish populations had been decimated, and the underwater ecosystem was in ruins.

"But Eden is different." I shrugged, looking at the dirty river on the monitor. The primary culprit for poisoning the river around the castle was the Kappa, controlled by that perverted Outer God, the Seven Calamities. Because of their constant rampaging and defecating, the original native aquatic life of Eden had long since been torn apart or wiped out.

Even looking at the continent of Eden as a whole, the situation was hopeless. Every corner of the world had already been turned into a wasteland by the Seven Calamities and other bizarre, hostile Outer Gods. There was no environment left to ruin in an ecosystem that was already rotting to the core.

Furthermore, even if the Chytrid fungus wiped out every last Kappa, the possibility of the fire-bellied toads becoming a new invasive species in Eden was slim. That river was essentially toxic wastewater infused with the power of an Outer God. The Korean toads, having completed their mission, would likely have a 99 percent chance of flipping their bellies and perishing within days, unable to withstand the intense toxicity. It was a perfectly controlled, one-time biological terror that didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even require predators like snakeheads or catfish to keep in check.

"I don't have time to go catch them in the valley... and as a guy under house arrest, I can't even leave..."

I immediately began scouring rare pet sites and biological collection forums that specialized in reptiles and amphibians. Finding places that sold fire-bellied toads for food or observation wasn't hard. But I didn't have the luxury of releasing a dozen and waiting patiently for the infection to spread. Mass deployment. A carpet bombing of overwhelming biological weaponry was the only way to ensure the Kappa were wiped out in a short period.

"No quantity limit. I'm taking them all."

I went through every online pet shop, dumping all their stock of fire-bellied toads into my cart. I even sent inquiries to collectors selling them in batches of 50 or 100, asking if they could do same-day quick delivery.

[Sold Out!] [Sold Out!] The "Sold Out" labels began appearing in a relay across the amphibian categories of every site I visited. The reptile shop owners across the country must have been stunned by the sudden, crazy guy who was buying up all their red-bellied toads.

"I'll pay whatever it takes, just send them via quick delivery today."

I pressed the transfer button, adding a hefty premium and quick delivery fees to the cost of hundreds of toads that didn't even cost a few thousand won each. It was a "cool transaction" only possible because I had a solid 30 million won in my account. As I confirmed the payment, I leaned back in my chair, and another idea that had brushed past my mind earlier surfaced.

"Wait a second... I was thinking about strapping Molotovs to a drone earlier, right?"

While the plan was to wipe out the Kappa with the Chytrid fungus, there was no guarantee a biological weapon would work 100 percent perfectly. Who knew when the Outer God's minions might mutate or develop resistance? I needed a physical, incendiary carpet-bombing backup plan to put my mind at ease.

My gaze drifted to the cheap, dusty mini-drone in the corner. "That toy won't cut it. It can barely carry a few hundred grams; there's no way it could fly with the heavy load of a Molotov."

I needed a much larger, sturdier model for real combat bombing. I opened a new tab in my browser and started searching for large industrial drones and high-performance quadcopters.

"Payload capacity of at least 5kg... I should just order a large agricultural drone meant for pesticide spraying. If I fill it with gasoline instead of pesticide and spray it, wouldn't that be a true napalm bomber?"