World Collision - The Third - 2

The moment they saw Yogur-tosoth, they spammed Conversation and Surrender in rapid succession. It seemed even they realized they had no path to victory. I understood then that I had already won this game.

But when I refused to accept their surrender, the opposing players switched to their backup plan.

“In a situation where you’d lose even if you came back from the dead, is there really such a thing as a backup plan?”

There is. It’s forcing the opponent to accept your surrender.

They would gather ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠every ounce of their military strength and deal me a meaningful blow. They couldn’t win, but they could at least threaten me.

You have another game after this one, don’t you? Do you really think you can win after getting beaten this badly?

That was the threat.

“A logical strategy. But that raises a question—why won’t you accept our surrender?”

Well… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I just don’t want to become a worse person than necessary?

“That’s a strange way of thinking. There’s nothing worse than soul annihilation.”

There is. Promising not to annihilate someone, then annihilating them anyway.

“Ah.”

If I’m going to get rid of them anyway, accepting their surrender first and then erasing them would basically be fraud.

“The System also technically prohibits it. Annihilation is only possible in cases of sabotage, rebellion, or extreme incompetence. If you truly dislike a god on a personal level, you can only expel them by paying an amount of Faith equal to their contribution.”

“Then if that god keeps doing their job well, you can’t expel them even if you hate them?”

“Hmm. Usually, if they keep performing well, you’d keep using them even if you disliked them… But if you really can’t stand them, you can simply choose to ‘give them no work.’ Since points explode with every game, their contribution will eventually become negligible. That’s when you can expel them.”

I see.

For that reason, I refused to accept their surrender. The fewer intelligent beings in this world, the better.

The enemy’s vanguard tried to hold out as long as possible by devouring aquatic plants, fish, and the mana in the ground and atmosphere through their mystic arts. In the end, however, they couldn’t withstand the onslaught of the carnivorous puddings and were wiped out.

The problem was the carnivorous puddings and jellies I had sent. There was no “water” in the enemy’s territory. It was a genuine barren desert.

My puddings and jellies had been designed on the assumption that the enemy would have a water source, so they were annihilated.

“Hmm. Fascinating… How can there be literally no water?”

After scouting the enemy world, I discovered that the moving sand and rock-like creatures were elemental-type lifeforms. They weren’t made of protein but moved through magic. Even their bodies were composed of magic instead of protein.

“It’s not just any magic, huh.”

Their bodies were made of magic, and they drew power from sunlight, sand, atmospheric mana, and elements. That allowed them to survive without water. In exchange, they seemed to monopolize the magical resources of their world.

The other species resembled oversized hamsters. They were larger than normal and had developed arms and hands capable of crafting and using tools—essentially tiny humans.

Considering there are desert-dwelling hamster species on Earth, it wasn’t that strange. Some desert rodents can survive for months without a single drop of water in extreme cases.

Judging by the rocky hills and valleys in their world, they probably hid in burrows during the day and moved at night. They likely had an extremely water-efficient ecology.

There were also dense forests of cacti, shrubs, and bushes that could be described as lush for a desert. If plants grew that well, it meant rain fell somewhat regularly. It seemed they had evolved a strategy of consuming water while minimizing consumption to the extreme.

Upon closer inspection, the hamster species had “humps.” Water? Fat? They appeared to have organs for storing energy. On Earth, such organs don’t exist in rodents—they’re found in camels.

The hamsters’ food consisted of insects, cacti, cactus fruit, cactus sap, and fields cultivated in the valleys… They also raised massive herbivorous animals that resembled giant camels as livestock.

I could see buildings and tools made by splitting stones. It seemed they had divided their territory into hamster cities in the valleys, cactus forests, and the desert elemental zones beside them.

“Wow. Your analysis of hamsters is disturbingly detailed.”

What can I do? I don’t know anything about magic. Those rock elemental guys seem to have built some kind of village, but they probably just eat magic and build villages with magic.

“Please apologize to all elemental-type species.”

And so, all the jellies and puddings I sent to the enemy world died, and I could no longer observe their territory.

It was time to think about strategy.

Honestly, there wasn’t much to think about. At this point, I only had one strategic choice.

Either send Yogur-tosoth to the enemy side…

Or use him to intercept any forces coming through.

“Simple, isn’t it?”

Well, yeah. What else could I do? There wasn’t a single member of the Dessert Legion that could survive in pure desert terrain.

“Wait, that makes me curious. If your first or second opponent had been a desert world, how were you planning to deal with them?”

In that case, they wouldn’t have been able to live near water either, so I would have just shut up, focused on breeding life in my own ecosystem, and crushed them with points. Or simply coexisted until the next World Collision.

“Wow… So your strategy was literally just leaving it to luck?”

That’s how ecosystem strategies usually work. If you can attack the enemy, you attack and starve them out. If you can’t attack them, they can’t attack you either, so you just endure.

“You do realize that’s commonly called a ‘free win build,’ right?”

If it works, it’s a strategy. And in that situation, I would have evolved my creatures to depend less on water.

Hmm. Yogur-tosoth. How admirable of you to ask for my opinion.

To be honest, if I sent you out, you’d probably sweep them all away and end this easily. But I want to observe their numbers and respond slowly. So focus on developing magic and creating countermeasures for whatever tactics they might use.

Yogur-tosoth then headed to the Nectar Lake, grabbed Abhojuth’s tentacles, and began sucking fiercely, inhaling an enormous amount of nectar.

The amount he was consuming was so massive it was slowing the growth of the entire ecosystem, but there was no helping it. If we won this match and gained access to more resources, and if Abhojuth grew even further, it should be manageable.

The dimensional gate opened several more times, giving us chances to attack, but neither I nor the enemy sent out any creatures. We both knew they would simply die for nothing.

Even when the game time advanced several years and reached the “Dimensional Passage” stage, the situation remained the same.

Yogur-tosoth spent the time honing his magic alone. My ecosystem recovered to about eighty percent of its original state. The enemy only occasionally sent a few scouts into my world.

Why didn’t I send scouts? I couldn’t. While I could select specific creatures to send through the dimensional gate, starting from the “Dimensional Passage” stage, I had to give direct orders.

But my Politics score—which indicated control and loyalty over my creations—was zero. And the intelligence of my Dessert Legion was rock bottom. In other words, even if I tried to issue divine revelations using Divinity, my creatures wouldn’t listen at all. They were simply too stupid.

So instead, I used my remaining divine power to tune my creatures. I worked hard to evolve the puddings so they could survive in both water-rich and waterless environments.

Then, whether fortunately or inevitably, the enemy finally sent their army.

It was an army they had trained over more than a decade of in-world time. They seemed to have poured in every available resource. More than half the force consisted of long-range mage units clearly designed to damage the floating Yogur-tosoth. The other half was an overwhelming number of hamster troops.

Interestingly, there was one species I hadn’t seen before—something resembling an insectoid race capable of using tools with its hands. They didn’t seem to be the enemy’s main force; they looked somewhat lower in rank. Perhaps they belonged to the true player.

The insectoids appeared to possess magical abilities. They joined forces with the elementals and prepared to fire magic at Yogur-tosoth. That was when a message appeared before me.

A player I couldn’t block. I naturally refused. Instead of answering with words, I moved Yogur-tosoth.

The battle between the enemy world and the Dessert Legion had begun. Though calling it the “beginning” felt a bit off—my puddings had already caught the scent of meat that had entered their territory long ago (scent was their only sensory organ) and were charging toward them like mad.

A hamster that looked like a general, a rather special individual, had the hamsters form a proper battle formation using equipment crafted from cactus spines and bushes. They endured ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the puddings’ suicidal charges.

So the hamsters were the physical fighters? Impressive. Thanks to their numbers and extremely tight formation, the puddings couldn’t reach the enemy’s main mage forces.

Instead of attacking, focus on defending against their attacks on you.

Soon after, the enemy mage troops unleashed their magic all at once. Yogur-tosoth moved his tentacles and countered with magic in midair.

Yogur-tosoth’s magic magically blocked the magic of the elementals and insectoids in a magical manner.

“Hey!!! Is that seriously your only reaction to seeing a high-level magical barrier created by a legendary creation against primitive magic?!”

I don’t have magic in my world, so how am I supposed to appreciate it… It’s like a military otaku getting angry when you call a gun a gun and not knowing its exact model.

Anyway, Yogur-tosoth’s magical prowess seemed genuinely impressive. He had consumed a massive amount of mana, yet he blocked the desperate attack of an army they had painstakingly assembled without taking any damage.

“Yogur-tosoth. You also have the ability to mercilessly trample them, correct?”

Don’t. Can you cook them slowly, conserving as much mana as possible, so that our Dessert Legion can devour them?

What followed was a one-sided massacre.

Yogur-tosoth’s main magic was wind magic. He swept through the enemy lines with tornadoes mixed with sand, water, and stones.

The lightweight hamsters were simply swept up and tossed about by the storm. Even the sturdier-looking insectoids and elementals began to shatter under the barrage of water and stone.

The Dessert Legion swarmed toward the broken remains and began feasting to their hearts’ content. It was especially fatal for the rock jellies that the elemental bodies were made of stone, allowing them to melt and consume them.

“This is good. Unless the enemy is so strong that you can’t defeat them without going all out, try to suppress them while cooperating with the Dessert Legion as much as possible.”

Prosperity.

Exactly.

“Probably not…”

And so, the enemy world lost all its military power. Thanks to Yogur-tosoth advancing while spraying water magic, the Dessert Legion claimed the third world.

My world’s area had now reached a full eighty square kilometers. In this doubled territory that contained not a drop of water, what would the Dessert Legion be able to accomplish?