The Most Vicious and Ruthless Predator

Time that had frozen began to flow once more. I spoke in a rush.

“Give me the world collision victory rewards first.”

“By the way, for players who chose to advance instead of dropping out at the exit stage, points will be doubled right after that section. Fun, right?”

The Angel presented three trait cards. Each one was exactly what my world needed.

“I’ll take Superior Species.”

The others were tempting, but nothing beat raising the baseline specs of my ecosystem. Even a single level advantage in Excellent traits could completely shift the balance of competition within the food web.

I quickly began adjusting the desert environment. More important than the new desert itself was regulating the creatures already living in Dessert Desert—especially the carnivorous Puddings.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing to apply the game theory I mentioned earlier. I originally planned to wait until I’d experienced one or two more collisions, but given the current situation, I need to start right now.”

Game theory is not about how to play games well. It is the collective logic that can be applied to any environment where interdependent, rational decision-makers stand to gain or lose—mathematics, science, sociology, biology, political science, economics. In short, when a given environment offers certain choices, which choice yields the greatest benefit? That is what game theory explains. Because every environment has different conditions, rules, and balances of gain and loss, a different theory must be constructed for each situation.

Until now I had simply assumed this was a one-on-one survival game, but that misunderstanding came from rushing to accept the premise without knowing the actual conditions. Now that I understood the conditions, I knew every other player had already grasped the true nature of this game and would act accordingly with rational judgment.

From this moment on, I would become the most vicious and ruthless predator, one who mercilessly exploits that rational judgment.

“How exactly do you plan to do that?”

First, let’s define what a “predator” actually is.

Take my Dessert Desert as an example. In the beginning there were no predators at all—only a paradise of Jellies that consumed nothing but sunlight, minerals, and Nectar. In such an environment the optimal strategy was simply “eat as much as possible, grow quickly, and reproduce abundantly.”

That was why the Jellies flourished wildly and leveled up the Nectar Well. They filled every ecological niche by consuming minerals no one else wanted, and the same strategy—eat fast, grow fast, breed fast—remained supreme. At least, until I introduced the Puddings.

Puddings were predators that ate Jellies. The old strategy still worked, but because far more individuals were now being consumed, the Jellies were forced to develop new strategies: growing larger, fleeing, burrowing, developing shells, producing toxins, and so on.

A predator, in essence, is an entity that counters the opponent’s strategy, seizes unilateral advantage, and forces the development of entirely different strategies.

An ecosystem is an endless cycle of such strategic confrontations. If prey becomes faster, the predator evolves to become faster still. If prey grows tougher, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠predator grows stronger. If prey develops poison, the predator strengthens its digestive system. Over time, predators specialize in hunting specific prey, while prey specialize in defending against specific predators. New predators appear to counter existing ones, forcing yet another round of adaptation. Failure to adapt means extinction; successful adaptation means prosperity.

“So what?”

Yet there is a crucial difference between an ecosystem and a game situation. In nature, even the organisms themselves do not know what mutations will arise or what strategies they will produce. In a game, however, the players know—perfectly or at least partially—what outcomes their choices will create.

And in this game, everyone except me had almost certainly understood that condition from the start. From there, the deduction follows.

What is the optimal strategy in a game where only one player can win and the vast majority are eliminated midway?

“As I said earlier, it would be a ‘good loss.’”

“Correct. So what constitutes a good loss?”

My third opponent had been the textbook example of someone aiming for a good loss. The overwhelming majority of players in this game probably shared that mindset. Cooperate at first, then betray one another later—or cooperate until everyone is satisfied and drop out together. If the opponent proves too aggressive, surrender or negotiate to become a subordinate. That is the single best strategy in this game.

“Interesting……”

In that sense, my first and second opponents had been something of anomalies. They had prepared strategies specifically to counter players aiming for a good loss. Looking back, both had possessed unusually strong military power—especially compared to the third-round players, whose military capabilities had been far weaker than expected.

Why? Because to achieve a good loss, you must appear attractive to your opponent. To appear attractive, you must not build up military strength. High military power makes you look too dangerous. If both sides have high military power, they risk mutual destruction; only when both sides have low military power can they cooperate comfortably. Therefore the ideal approach is to maintain just enough military force to deter attacks while focusing on raising Culture, Industry, and Technology scores. With no overwhelming force on either side, natural cooperation becomes the only viable path.

“That does sound plausible.”

Yet Oswald—the first player—had exploited exactly that gap by deliberately building military power. Any opponent who had focused on domestic development would have been crushed. Teimong, the second player, had likely prepared a similar strategy, but her first opponent had done the same. They fought each other to a near standstill, then had to face my Dessert Legion while still weakened.

That was why I had been confused. I thought that kind of military confrontation was normal—after all, I had faced three consecutive opponents who were essentially fighting for their lives in one-on-one matches. In reality, however, the cooperation strategy is generally superior in this game. A strategy built around crushing and squeezing the opponent is somewhat risky; mutual military confrontation tends to end in mutual destruction.

“It’s a famous game theory scenario on Earth, isn’t it?”

Exactly. The most famous one. If both cooperate, each earns 3 points. If one cooperates and one betrays, only the betrayer earns 5 points. If both betray, each earns –1 point. When this game is repeated hundreds of times, the optimal strategy is Tit-for-Tat: cooperate on the first move, then simply mirror whatever the opponent did in the previous round. Infinite cooperation yields infinite points; betrayal is met with retaliation; an offered olive branch is met with reconciliation.

In that regard, I had brought a strategy that lets me earn 5 points regardless of whether the opponent betrays or cooperates. In other words, I had become the ultimate predator that devours both predator and prey alike. If an opponent focused on domestic development, my Dessert Legion would have razed their farmlands. If they maintained a standoff where neither side could attack, the result would be the same. And if they launched an aggressive assault, they would simply starve to death against my ecosystem.

“It wasn’t ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠intentional, but you arrived with the single most optimal strategy for this environment.”

Correct. And I had originally intended to use this foundation to fight a slower, more stable battle—because I had believed this was a one-on-one survival game. But now that I understood the environment was extremely lenient toward losers—that players did not even consider elimination a possibility and would avoid aggression for fear of soul annihilation upon defeat—I would exploit that very fact.

“Specifically, how?”

To attempt it, I first needed a clear understanding of my current ecosystem. Only then could I determine which of the many strategies forming in my mind were actually feasible.

My ecosystem was now divided into three main parts.

The first was the Nectar Oasis. Freshwater and Nectar layers were clearly separated, and it remained the source of all life and the very power of my ecosystem. Thanks to the increased number of organisms, the surface and interior shimmered with glassy reflections—an undeniably beautiful sight—yet the absence of intelligent beings meant Culture points would not rise.

“Haa……”

Creatures living inside the Nectar Oasis included Nectar Jellies, Toppings, and the aquatic plants and coral reefs that had evolved from them, along with fish and countless other benthic and aquatic Jellies. Some had gone extinct; others had thrived. The Anomalocaris Pudding, once ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the ruler of the oasis, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had strangely lost the very eyes that had brought it success.

“Huh. Why did its eyes degenerate?”

“Simple. The Toppings in the water are emitting far too much light.”

“Ah!”

Primitive eyes could only distinguish light from dark. Even that ability was significant—having any kind of eye made finding prey easier. Even starfish on Earth possessed such rudimentary eyes at the tips of their arms. Yet inside the lake, the Toppings that fed on water and mana and emitted light and heat made everything constantly bright. In such an environment, the ability to distinguish light from dark became meaningless, so the fragile eyes that could only perform that function simply degenerated instead of evolving further. An unexpected outcome.

Conversely, some creatures had developed eyes in the opposite manner.

“Is that a jellyfish?”

It had no official name and had evolved on its own, but it would probably be called a jellyfish—a filter-feeding, jelly-bodied organism. Unlike actual jellyfish, it could swim and possessed a mouth. Instead of an anus, it had multiple openings on its body; it would open its mouth wide, close it, then contract to expel water through the rear openings while filtering organic matter and propelling itself forward.

Because these creatures preyed on the light-emitting Toppings, they had begun chasing after light, which in turn caused them to develop eyes capable of distinguishing light from dark. The Sun Toppings they consumed glowed on their own, so the jellyfish themselves all shone brightly.

The Nectar Oasis was now both highly dynamic and stable. Dynamic because survival competition continued without end; stable because no insane strategy capable of overturning the entire ecosystem had yet emerged. Abhojuth was managing it well, so that part was fine. Now for the freshwater regions.

The freshwater areas resembled Earth’s wetlands. The wetlands between the Teimong River and the Oswald Oasis had been gradually eaten away by Jellies; if their activity accelerated, the river and lake might one day merge. That, too, was a strange thought. Given the sheer number of wetland organisms living in that space, a flooding event would likely trigger mass extinction……

Come to think of it, another question suddenly occurred to me. How exactly did the Teimong River flow? If the lake and river merged, would the “flow” still remain? That would mean water moving against the laws of physics.

“If you investigate, you’ll find the answer right away.”

So I investigated.

?

I examined it more closely.

……!

I checked the Aquifer I had seen earlier.

What is this?

“What do you mean? This is the true nature of the billion worlds. Every single one is a fragment of the body of the being once called a god. Earth has myths about giant gods creating the world too, doesn’t it?”

“Then the reason certain terrains are matched together……”

“You can think of it as fragments of the original god’s body being drawn to one another. Don’t worry—there’s no risk of that god reviving even if the final winner combines all the worlds.”

……

“No, no, don’t make that face like I tricked you. That’s also why fairies can inhabit rivers and lakes in addition to the Nectar Well. In short, everything in this world is made from fragments of a god or the power of a god.”

Well. That makes sense…… Considering this is a fantasy world, it isn’t that strange. Rather, I should think about what comes next.

How can I apply this fact within my own ecosystem?