The Common Strategy
The top ranks belonged to Biin and the Meteor Cartel. Terasion, the Holy Emperor of Utopia, also held a place among the elite, and it was true that his build was somewhat unique as well.
Because of that, their distinctiveness did not stand out. What, then, was this “ordinary, unremarkable civilization” that stood in contrast to them? What kinds of concerns did those players carry, and what strategies did they pursue?
Players who ran unusual builds either crashed to the bottom or clawed their way to the very top. The vast majority of those running standard builds occupied the middle-upper to middle-lower ranks.
Among them, the true middle. It was necessary to examine what a “plain, unremarkable yet solidly strong civilization” looked like inside the game.
Each collision granted +1 level, yet reaching only level 10 by the tenth collision placed one firmly in the lower ranks. A mid-tier civilization had to survive two disaster phases and reach roughly level 12.
Inotin was a god who managed exactly such a level-12, ordinary civilization. He had purchased one hero-grade trait and one epic-grade trait during the shop phase. Though his performance fluctuated, he was a player who ran a reasonably stable world.
The race he had created resembled wolves with massive tusks, modeled after his own former species. Through cooperation with other players, roughly six races now inhabited his world, yet his own remained the dominant one.
“We barely survived the disaster phase.”
One mandatory disaster had already been cleared the moment the phase began, but the second required possessing a unique entity of level 11 or higher—an enormous hurdle. He had raised a “final weapon,” yet it had failed its promotion trial and remained at level 10.
He had frantically liquidated his stockpiled resources to scrape through the disaster phase. Naturally, he had accepted no additional disasters. Inotin was the sort of player who already struggled with the mandatory ones alone.
“The eleventh collision is coming soon. What should we do…?”
Inotin gathered his subordinate gods for consultation—his pantheon. There were 451 of them. Considering that the maximum number of subordinate gods one could gather at this stage was 1,023, it was quite a large number.
Both he and his subordinates had risen through cooperation. There had been occasional conflicts, but fundamentally they worked together. Inotin had amassed more than twice the points of any allied god, becoming the undisputed number one within his coalition. That alone marked him as fairly competent.
Yet his competence seemed to reach its limit here. In life he had merely served as village chief in a moderately sized settlement. Defeating former kings of great nations, emperors, and generals with only that much experience was impressive in its own way—but that was all.
With his world score now exceeding three million points, his life score at four hundred thousand, and a population surpassing two hundred thousand, the numbers had long since outstripped the scale his experience could handle. The same held true for the subordinate gods gathered here.
“Cooperation is becoming difficult, isn’t it?”
The subordinate who had contributed the most spoke cautiously. Inotin felt it too. The cooperation strategy was reaching its end.
The reason was simple: the land had grown too vast.
His sacred territory alone already covered ten thousand square kilometers, and with the addition of unclaimed lands the total exceeded twenty-five thousand. Governing that expanse with medieval-level technology and administration was simply impossible.
“Even during the tenth collision, occupying enemy territory with our own army was nearly impossible. Doubling our world score beyond the opponent’s was equally difficult. If the god we faced last time hadn’t made that… ahem, ‘serious mistake,’ we would probably still be locked in collision.”
“Mm… That’s true.”
In short, it was highly likely that the system would inevitably shift from a single chief god per world to an alliance of chief gods.
One might think, “If there are two gods, won’t we get twice the traits?” But the reverse was also true: points would be halved, making it far harder to acquire one or two traits in every field. Territory would not expand, yet internal conflict would grow, and one would be fortunate if scores did not decline.
Even the points gained after each collision would be split in half. That meant they could no longer purchase top-tier traits during the shop phase.
The most serious problem was the disaster phase. Disasters struck per god, not per world. Had they failed to merge before the tenth collision, they would have faced four mandatory disasters in this phase alone.
Yet “penalty traits” accumulated on a world basis. In other words, if they failed to resolve all four, Inotin would also suffer the penalties incurred by his allies.
Cooperation, therefore, could not be unconditional. Even while cooperating, they needed the refined maneuver of generating more than twice the opponent’s points and absorbing them outright.
But that did not mean they could wage war either.
“Cooperation remains the best strategy. Of course, even within cooperation there is competition and conflict. Yet because the system allows successful integration of nations and races, with the superior party cleanly becoming the chief god, there is no controversy. We can even absorb the subordinate gods of the other deity with ease.
War, by comparison, consumes enormous resources. In a game where defense holds a massive advantage, one must still field overwhelming offensive power, which only increases the cost. Failure leads to total ruin. Even if the opponent does not annihilate us, their world weakens, forcing us to surrender at a loss. It is truly the worst strategy.”
The problem was that if they neglected their military entirely and made no preparations for war, any faction that had deliberately prepared for conflict would simply trample them.
Thus they could not afford to stop investing in Military. They could not avoid the possibility of war. Ideally they would have preferred to overwhelm opponents through economic and cultural power, but that too was difficult.
“The biggest issue is that by the tenth collision or so, players on both sides tend to be competent across multiple fields, making it hard to suppress opponents through internal administration alone…”
Inotin himself had experience as a village chief, which had served him well in the early rounds when assembling small groups. Later, when a former local administrator joined, he had been able to manage a larger civilization.
Players with gaming backgrounds understood the rules and possessed broad, if shallow, experience, allowing them to perform adequately at most tasks. Scholars, whether from the humanities or sciences, introduced excellent institutions and technologies.
Yet Inotin was hardly unique; most other players likely commanded two or three hundred subordinate gods as well. Civilizations run by such expert collectives were extremely difficult to ruin.
The only notable controversy in Inotin’s world had occurred when two former economists advocated conflicting economic theories. An economic historian had stepped in, declaring that while both theories were theoretically sound, their practical application was flawed and that the medieval-scale system was the correct one. The matter had been peacefully resolved.
Other worlds were probably much the same. After all, the structure allowed gods to receive retirement compensation proportional to their contributions, so none could afford to be anything less than devoted. The fact that contributions transferred even if one became another god’s subordinate only reinforced that loyalty.
“Even if we cooperate to raise our scores through internal development, that itself becomes a problem. There are simply too few gods now… We can no longer monitor the world in detail.”
When they had first received their lands, each god oversaw roughly a hundred people. Now, with four hundred gods and a population of two hundred thousand, each god was responsible for five hundred. The area they had to oversee had grown more than fourfold.
As collisions continued, the territory and population each god managed would only increase—at least doubling with every cycle—until individual oversight of civilization and nation became impossible.
Worlds beyond level 10 ran on the accumulated Politics foundation and the systems created by their own creatures. From level 5 onward, gods had already stopped at creating ruling entities and offering appropriate advice. From level 10 onward, theocratic rule in which a god controlled everything became impossible. At minimum, they had to select national leaders and support them without reservation.
The problem was that even at this level, national leaders struggled to govern their people cleanly. Large populations resisted control through sheer numbers; small populations resisted it through insufficient density across vast lands.
Even when laws were established, violations became routine. Unlike in the past, gods could no longer casually unleash “divine punishment.” Yet relying on divine judgment for public order rendered both law and judges meaningless.
Moreover, fully developing or controlling the expanding unclaimed lands proved even harder. Criminals flourished there, the economy remained too small, and when attempting trade with other worlds they found themselves outmatched by far larger civilizations that possessed no particularly distinctive exports.
Above all, the existence of entities like the Meteor Cartel made them afraid to show their faces in the community. The only community activity they engaged in was forming temporary alliances with other mid-tier players for the next collision.
“I want to retire at the next retirement window. If I have to endure two more collisions, what is the best strategy?”
Should they prioritize certain survival through cooperation, even at the cost of fewer points?
Or should they seek out weaker targets and plunder them?
Or should they submit to a stronger power and join a faction?
The grand-strategy meeting dragged on for a very long time. No matter what council they held, the conclusion was always the same: “Let the chief god make the final decision.” Inotin’s temperament was better suited to being a middle manager than a final decision-maker, so the current situation left him deeply troubled.
After much deliberation, he reached a conclusion.
“We should be able to hold our own against mid-upper opponents, so let’s face someone ambiguously strong. Defense is easier in this game.”
In the end, those who had built solid, ordinary civilizations all stopped at this point.
No matter how much they agonized… and agonized again, conventional strategies inevitably converged on similar answers. They had no desire to attempt any novel gambles.
And an even more serious problem remained.
“Then what measures should we take to raise Faith again and further develop this world’s civilization?”
With the grand strategy decided, they moved on to tactical details.
Here the subordinate gods each voiced their own opinions in hopes of increasing their contributions.
“First, to raise Faith we must secure the economy! Once Industry improves and living standards rise, anyone will praise the gods!”
“No, to improve living standards we must raise Culture, not the economy. I happen to know something suitable. With this world now at a medieval level, we can stage magnificent performances and theatrical productions to trigger a dramatic spiritual leap…”
“Wait, wait…! First we need to adjust the ruler’s policies. Left alone, that self-proclaimed hero-entity has grown drunk on power and begun indulging in luxury. Shouldn’t he at least listen to the gods?”
“What’s wrong with luxury? That’s how the economy develops!”
“Drunk on power? No, centralization is proceeding nicely. That’s how rulers are supposed to be. And only through luxury does their authority truly shine.”
“Ha… So, everyone, ultimately the governmental system should not be superhuman dictatorship but should move toward democracy by gathering the will of the people…”
“Not this guy again. Hey. When a superior entity emerges, one person performs the work of hundreds. Why introduce democracy? We need to build around heroes…”
“Please!! Enough with the hero-centric build talk! That superior entity may do hundreds of times the work, but it also consumes thousands of times the resources!!! Can’t you do the math? We need to raise the average level instead.”
Inotin felt a throbbing headache beginning to form. As a god, he should have been free from such ailments by now.
Every field’s experts had gathered to build a civilization. Every argument sounded reasonable; every direction seemed capable of advancing the civilization plausibly.
Yet among them, Inotin could not tell which was correct. The absence of a firm main plan.
As a civilization grew, the number of experts increased, but so did the areas where expert knowledge reached its limits and where experts’ opinions diverged.
While the gods argued, criminals multiplied in the unclaimed lands beyond their sight. The expanded territory, the chaotic influx of foreign races.
And even when they wished to cooperate, incompatible institutions forced the actual leaders of the world to demand a perfection beyond common sense, inevitably producing mistakes that in turn generated greater contradictions.
This was the average state of an ordinary civilization. In other words, half of all civilizations failed to reach even this level, while the other half performed only slightly better…
Even civilizations possessing two mythic-grade traits suffered these problems, and because their power was greater, the frequency of self-destruction was also higher.
The hosts desired the best strategy, yet ironically the overwhelming majority of civilizations were moving toward the lesser evil—avoiding the worst while never reaching the best.
Considering that, perhaps a mad strategy would have been preferable after all.
Still, compared to Biin’s biological-system approach, Sesaisa could be considered a player who overcame this weakening of control through truly insane methods.
Sesaisa’s strategy for responding to leadership confusion was perfect theocracy.
Everything was done according to the god’s will, and those who did not obey were killed. It was behavior truly worthy of the epithet “Tyrant.”