The Fourth Collision

Yogur-tosoth is strong. The problem is that he's *too* strong.

Right now, Yogur-tosoth can't even cross a dimensional gate, let alone a dimensional passage. The only timing that allows him to advance into an enemy world is during a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dimensional rift, when the restrictions between worlds temporarily vanish.

In that sense, no matter who my opponent was, there had always been a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sliver of hope. Because dimensional rifts only open after the mid-game at the earliest.

So the plan was simple: build up an army as much as possible before Yogur-tosoth appeared, somehow kill him when he did show up, then sweep into the enemy ecosystem, exterminate everything, crush Abhojuth, and seize the Nectar Well for victory.

Starting from the fourth game, if you poured in a decent amount of military power and spent a few years on it, you could actually perform that insane extermination operation to clear out all the jelly creatures from the Nectar Well. The enemy's score didn't look too bad either. They must have built quite the impressive civilization.

The problem was, I had zero intention of dragging things out that far.

Dimensional gate phase. That was when I planned to completely incinerate the enemy civilization.

Every time the opportunity to open a dimensional gate arose, I poured in endless swarms of Camel-Eating Candies and their subspecies, which had evolved differently depending on the size of their prey. The candies deployed into the enemy world sent me constant data on the local ecosystem and its composition.

This opponent's ecosystem was still a desert. But there were several rivers and oases. It looked like they'd developed it somewhat through divinity—the roughly eighty square kilometers of desert appeared surprisingly fertile.

There were no pure magical lifeforms, but their magic level was fairly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠high. They seemed skilled at farming. There was even a "mountain" in their world. The rivers flowed down from it.

Could it merge with Teimong's river? I wasn't sure. The important thing was the presence of mountains, plains, rivers, floodplains, and oases. Despite being called a desert, it was actually a wetland civilization with zero water problems.

And most regrettably, the enemy world had an absurdly high Politics stat.

The reason this was a problem was simple. Worlds with high Politics usually develop strict class systems, and once classes are divided, you get a clear split between "military" and "civilians."

In other words, a warrior class with extremely high combat ability and a civilian class with high productivity instead of combat power.

Normally, this isn't an issue. But there's one situation where it becomes a fatal weakness.

When invaders pour *inside* the borders instead of waging a traditional war from behind tightly locked gates, walls, or castles. In what essentially becomes urban warfare, the combat-inept civilians get massacred.

Just like now.

“Kyaaaaaaaagh!”

“Save us! Please, save us!”

The enemy world had eight different tribes. That matched the eight players currently spamming me with desperate Conversation requests. They must have climbed this far purely through alliances without ever fighting.

And since none of them were made of pure magic—every last one was either flesh or keratin from insects—they were being slaughtered wholesale.

The dozens of candies I’d dropped through the dimensional gates had already pulverized the enemy scouts. Then they began devouring, reproducing, and slipping into forests, oases, and wetlands, hunting every living thing they could find and headbutting farmers to death one by one in the fields.

A dimensional gate could be blocked from opening in specific areas if a player spent Divinity, allowing for the formation of proper front lines. But if you poured in a massive amount of divinity instead, you could open an overwhelming number of gates and even force your way into regions the enemy had tried to seal.

I simply flooded every undefended area with candies like a madman. Just by analyzing their ecosystem and dropping the most suitable candy variants, the enemy civilization was already collapsing.

Shall we listen in on what the enemy civilians are saying?

“Aigoo! My lords! Those things are roaming everywhere outside—how are we supposed to farm?!”

“Calm down! The shamans and warriors are currently trying to repel them…”

“They’re swarming in hundreds, devouring every last piece of meat and grass! What kind of warriors could possibly handle hundreds of those things?!”

Even with their high Politics, internal division had broken out. They were in complete panic over the current situation.

Or rather, the fact that they were still managing to control the panic might be even more impressive. There were eight different tribes, yet there didn’t seem to be any racial conflict. Just how high was their Politics stat, exactly?

But no matter how efficiently they could utilize 100% of their administrative and military power, there was no way to stop a horde of predators that completely overwhelmed their entire civilization’s military strength.

Still, the enemy soldiers weren’t idiots. They’d developed an efficient strategy: when the candies charged, they blocked with shields and crushed them with iron maces. They were reorganizing their elite units, conscripting even civilians, and throwing everyone into the candy extermination effort.

They were also using magic in tandem, working hard to control the candy infestation. But what could they do? The candies I’d already deployed had begun reproducing.

These carnivorous candies were true suicide commandos. Their lifespan wasn’t long, and after just one body slam, most of their muscles tore apart. They couldn’t even move properly afterward, let alone perform a second charge.

Instead, they devoured their kills and reproduced through live birth. The baby candies that emerged from the muscle-shredded adults fed on both their parents and the prey they had killed to grow.

They continued growing by eating plants and sand, and three days later, once they reached adulthood, the moment they detected a large creature through vibration or scent, they would immediately attempt the final body slam of their lives. They repeated this cycle of killing and reproducing.

Their hunting success rate against camels was 5%. If 100 candies charged a camel, 95 would die without tasting even a scrap of meat, while the successful 5 would multiply into 105.

They only needed to increase by 5. Next, 105 would charge. Then 110. Then 115. If this continued, eventually every organic molecule in the desert would be devoured by the candies.

Therefore, any ecosystem facing these candies *must* keep their hunting success rate below 5%. Anything above that, and the situation would spiral out of control.

And right now, my candies’ hunting success rate against the civilians in this ecosystem was approaching 45%. Even against the warrior class, it was 15%.

At this point, it was already over. Even if the enemy used their overwhelming Politics to conscript the entire population, rapidly turning civilians into makeshift warriors and mages, and threw their full civilization’s power into candy extermination, the fields, oases, forests, and mountains were already completely overrun by candies.

Every single livestock and crop had been devoured. Even the floodplains were turning back into worthless sand.

They had been defeated by the most vicious and tenacious predator—and by the very strategy that had created such a predator.

Blocked.

All seven players spammed surrender requests in succession, but I had no intention of accepting. Become candy feed, every last one of you.

“That sounds pretty weird. ‘Become candy feed.’”

The battle dragged on longer than expected. Since their surrender offers were rejected, they had no choice but to fight to the bitter end.

Thanks to their high Politics, they resisted for quite a long time. But honestly, I wasn’t sure what difference it made other than giving my candies more leisurely time to reproduce and terraform the ecosystem.

The enemy used every strategy, every spell, every ounce of unity, unique individuals, and even hero units born from the power of their Culture to resist my candies.

But they couldn’t lower the hunting success rate below 5%.

In truth, even if they had found some strategy to lower it, it would have been meaningless. Not when thousands of candies and the additional jellies I’d deployed were already swarming throughout their ecosystem.

In the end, the enemy’s final village collapsed under the relentless meaty charges of the candy tide, and they died heroic deaths.

The enemy ecosystem was somewhat stable… Maybe I should introduce some large predators that eat the candies and create an environment where camels can thrive. Rather than messing with it too much, I wanted to turn it into a stable hunting ground for cultivating carnivorous candies and freshwater dessert legion members.

“To think you annihilated the enemy world the moment the dimensional passage opened… You were already fast at winning, but this is on another level.”

“The enemy was too complacent. If their military power had been twice as strong, they might’ve been able to put up a decent fight.”

“Still, wouldn’t they have been crushed by Yogur-tosoth anyway?”

“Ah… that’s a slightly different matter.”

To be honest, Yogur-tosoth hadn’t done anything yet.

This was actually a surprisingly fatal problem… When I said he hadn’t done anything, I meant he hadn’t earned any experience. He wasn’t growing.

But Yogur-tosoth was still eating the same amount of food. He was devouring an *insane* amount of the most important resource in my ecosystem—the nectar.

He even consumed pure magical power. In short, he was a money ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pit with high maintenance costs, no actual use, and I couldn’t even get rid of him.

In nature, organs like this usually undergo degeneration. Stop wasting energy and invest it in raising other lifeforms instead.

“Wow. That’s cold.”

It was an objective assessment. Fortunately, legendary creations don’t degenerate. Still, it was disappointing.

“Why?”

“I created Yogur-tosoth by spending 2,000 points quickly because I thought this game was purely 1v1. If I’d known the environment would be like this from the start, I might have just made a bunch of truly vicious candies and skipped creating something like Yogur-tosoth that isn’t immediately necessary.”

“Hmm.”

“Yogur-tosoth does help with ecosystem regulation through artificial climate and terrain changes using magic, so he’s not completely useless… But still, he’s supposed to be the final weapon. It’s a shame when you can’t actually use that final weapon.”

After saying that, I looked at the angel. It was a signal that I wanted my victory rewards.

But the angel smiled.

“Lord of Mass Extinction.”

“How long are you going to keep calling me that? Call me Biin.”

“I have no choice but to follow your command. Biin-nim. You have now won your fourth collision.”

“Wait a second. Is there another event?”

“Yes.”

“Why is there an event every single time?”

“There really is an event every single time. If you wish, I can explain all of them since they are all fixed events.”

“Damn it. I’ll listen to all of them at once later. For now, tell me about the event that comes with the fourth victory.”

The angel smiled brightly and began explaining.

“On every fourth collision, a shop phase occurs. Instead of choosing one of the three recommended traits, you may spend points to purchase any trait you desire.”

Then something ridiculous came out.

“You told me at the beginning that there was no trait purchasing, didn’t you?”

“That was part of the explanation regarding the community function.”

Ah. Right. Whatever. Fine.

“If you wish, I can explain everything right now.”

“Let’s take it slow. So what is this shop phase?”

“During the shop phase that appears every fourth collision, you may purchase any trait from the seven grades—Common, Excellent, Elite, Heroic, Epic, Legendary, or Mythic—by paying points. You must purchase exactly one, and you must purchase something. If you cannot buy one, you will be forced to purchase a ‘Penalty’ trait.”

“Wait a minute… So you’re saying if I just pay the points, I could immediately obtain a Mythic-grade trait?”

“Yes!”

How many points did I have right now? 54,345. That was an enormous amount! I had barely taken any losses, started with a huge amount of points to begin with, and even received points from Sesaisa.

In that case, I should get a Mythic-grade trait here…

“For reference, trait prices are calculated as follows: Common is treated as –2 levels. Excellent is –1 level. Elite is +0 levels. And so on. The final price is the minimum world score for the adjusted level based on your current benchmark.”

“Benchmark level?”

“The benchmark level is equal to the number of World Collisions you have experienced.”

“…Ah. So since this is after the fourth collision, if I want to buy a Mythic-grade trait, that would be +4 levels. Meaning I’d have to pay the minimum world score of an 8-level world?”

“Correct. Specifically, if you wish to purchase a Mythic-grade trait right now, the price would be 144,093 points.”

Hey. Are you kidding me?

My own world was almost at level 6—currently level 5—so I only had about 54,000 points. 144,000 points was basically telling me not to buy it.

“That is correct. However, to look at it the other way, you can immediately purchase an Epic-grade trait, which is +2 levels. It only costs 32,675 points. A typical player would have to empty their entire fortune just to barely afford an Elite-grade trait, so this alone is already a massive gain.”

I knew just how powerful high-grade traits were in this game.

After all, Yogur-tosoth himself was a ‘Legendary’ creation. Of course, summoning him had consumed an absurd amount of resources, but no one would ever call him weak or useless.

“You said he should degenerate.”

That wasn’t important. Anyway, while Epic-grade was powerful, I wanted to obtain a Legendary or Mythic-grade trait if possible.

“Then you can sell the creatures, culture, or technology that exist in your world. That is what the community function is for.”

“Ah. So I don’t have to buy it immediately?”

“Correct. You may purchase at any time until right before the next World Collision. Also, if you purchase nothing, you will randomly receive a ‘Penalty’ trait, so you should at least prepare some backup traits in advance.”

Even so, what could I possibly sell from my world? The moment my strategy got leaked to others, countermeasures would appear and everything would fall apart.

“That is a personal problem for you, Biin-nim.”

Damn it. Was there any way to earn a massive amount of points quickly?

“You could sell Yogur-tosoth.”

“Shut up.”

That idiot. Did he seriously try to plant oak trees on the beach? He really doesn’t know the first thing about biology…

Huh? Wait a second. Advice?

“You’ve come up with another sinister idea, I see.”

From this point on, I would begin my ecosystem consulting business.

“At least it’s a relatively normal idea…”

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