Syrup

The creation of life forms impossible under Earth's biology. In doing so, the difficult-to-utilize terrain known as the Open-pit Mine would be transformed into an environment teeming with living creatures.

“Your ambition is grand, but how exactly do you plan to accomplish that?”

By mobilizing magic. Not some fragment of mystery, but literal omnipotence that defies physics—a purely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠conceptual, fictional power.

Fortunately, I had plenty of that kind of “magic.”

The most representative example was the recently developed “Cream.”

“An excellent substance. It condenses a portion of the world’s mana and the life force from the Nectar Well to create a similar energy source.”

Exactly. Even the Nectar Jellies, at their core, operated thanks to an ultimate energy source called “Nectar” that could be consumed as any organic matter.

So here, I would use “Cream” to create life forms. Fictional life forms. The most primitive ones… Maybe I’d call them “Dough.” Ultimately, they would evolve into metal-based life forms known as “Bread.”

“Your naming sense is remarkably consistent.”

The knowledge of life creation that had flooded my mind upon entering the game—I would make full use of it.

Once I had a clear direction for what kind of creature to make, the image naturally emerged.

On top of that, I added the biotechnological knowledge I’d studied as an undergraduate, at my job, and through self-study after quitting, allowing me to visualize the organisms with relative precision.

“I won’t name it until I get a successful result.”

And so I created them. Microorganisms that fed on Cream and formed their bodies from metal and soil components.

“You succeeded already?”

But not long after, I couldn’t hide my disappointment.

They quickly evolved into creatures that simply ate Cream. They were barely different from a degraded version of Nectar Jelly.

It seemed the “mineral components” mixed into the Cream were the problem.

Rather than eating Cream and then digging up the mine’s soil, it was more efficient to just eat the Cream and absorb the minerals directly from it.

“Looks like a lot of trial and error will be necessary.”

“Indeed.”

Attempt 2. Make them eat Cream and spit out water.

Failure. The reason was that Cream contained far less moisture than Nectar.

Attempt 3. Try constructing their bodies using precious metals themselves.

Failure. Precious metals were chemically too stable to form the basis of living organisms.

Attempt 4. Evolve the existing Rock Jellies into Metal Jellies.

Half-success. They functioned as life forms, but their survival rate was on the level of an endangered species. The Gamchi simply ate them and shat out iron powder, so they couldn’t function as part of the Dessert Legion. Still, I gave them the name Dough.

Attempt 5. Fuse them with “spirit”-type life forms.

Total. Failure. Merging spirits with living beings caused their basic life functions—including ego—to collapse.

“Having two minds in the same place is bound to break them, obviously.”

“I didn’t realize it was ‘obvious.’ I know absolutely nothing about this field.”

The next attempt. I completely removed the Dough’s ability to think and made them operate purely on instinct.

“That’s cruel.”

For reference, sea squirts are chordates. When young, they have eyes, noses, brains, muscles, nerves, and notochords, but as adults they digest all of that, root themselves to the seafloor, and live as filter feeders. Intelligence isn’t actually that necessary. The same went for these Dough.

“…Sea squirts are chordates?”

That’s right. Sea squirts are closer to humans than to sea anemones.

Anyway. The fusion between the intelligence-stripped Dough and spirits was a half-success. Except for the fatal flaw that their lifespan was less than a week, preventing reproduction.

“It requires far too much mana. And combining the flow with the nervous system wasn’t easy either. That in turn demanded even more mana.”

Damn it. The general direction seemed correct, though.

Where should the mana supply come from? Since flow originates from mana, I’d need terrain with high mana density.

“Your world does have terrain with naturally high mana density, Sir Biin. You simply haven’t used it much.”

Ah. That’s right. Now that I thought about it…

After the third collision, I had acquired the Sand Desert and Gravel Desert.

They were currently left alone to help operate the Spiritual Realm, but those two regions had such high mana pressure that purely mana-dependent spirit life forms could survive there.

I asked Sesaisa, who still remained in my world, whether it was possible to connect those two deserts to the Open-pit Mine.

His answer was ambiguous.

“It’s not impossible, but the efficiency would be low.”

“Why?”

“Simply put, their sources of power are different. Those two deserts have nothing special in the material realm. However, they are connected to the spiritual flow realm. On the other hand, the Open-pit Mine simply condenses mana within the material realm.”

“?”

When I showed that I didn’t understand, Sesaisa immediately explained.

“Let me explain it simply. You were originally meat, weren’t you? Did you have a brain?”

“I did. Though I feel like I don’t have one right now.”

Then did that mean Sesaisa had originally been something without a brain? What kind of creature was he, exactly?

“A meat’s brain creates ‘flow.’ That’s what mental activity is.”

“Huh? No. Biologically…”

“Exactly. The interactions within the brain exist right at the boundary between the material realm and the spiritual flow realm.”

“!”

“That’s why meat can use their willpower and the knowledge they’ve studied to create flow and wield mystery. In other words, pure material interaction influencing the spiritual flow realm is itself a form of mystery. Conversely, flows from the spiritual realm can create matter even if purely spiritual… and that too is mystery.”

“So you’re talking about something like the pineal gland that Descartes claimed?”

“???”

“Ah, right. You wouldn’t know the philosophers of my world. Anyway, I get it. In short, the brain is a mysterious organ.”

“And the Nectar Well and Open-pit Mine are terrains with similar functions, though not spiritual realms themselves. They touch upon mystery, but they absorb mana through purely material mechanisms to create Nectar.”

Terrain that reaches mystery through material mechanisms is called “spiritual land.” I had no idea why the guy used that particular term. It probably wasn’t because he was speaking Chinese.

“Connecting spiritual land to a spiritual realm isn’t impossible or even particularly difficult… but the efficiency is low. Because the flows between them aren’t compatible. To make the flows compatible, you’d need to insert some massive structure or medium in between, and with current technology, even I can’t do that. Forcing it would waste an absurd amount of divinity. That’s why I haven’t directly connected the Nectar Well—a spiritual land—to the spiritual realm at this stage.”

So basically, adding one more step to the distribution process makes the price more expensive. Got it.

And I also understood that my angel was completely useless.

“What are you thinking so hard about? I only gave you the minimum advice ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I could.”

“Give me the maximum advice. What the hell do you mean, minimum?”

But fortunately, my world had one more high-mana terrain.

The Constellation. That terrain could be considered a natural spiritual realm. Instead of connecting it, if I simply poured mana downward from above, the mana pressure in the Open-pit Mine would increase.

“In fact, the previous Elguano player installed terrain that way. It only scattered due to Yogur-tosoth’s destruction.”

Then that was even better. I’d give it a try.

With Sesaisa’s help, I connected the Constellation to my world’s Creamland and tried pouring mana downward.

Once the resource called mana became abundant, the [Dough] fused with spirits gained hard carapaces and sturdy muscles. They seemed to have secured an ecological niche similar to jellies.

However.

“They all died before long…”

“……”

Another failure. Why? When I examined the reason, the answer became clear.

The mana pouring down from the Constellation was altering the composition of the Cream in the Creamland below. Moreover, the [Dough] here couldn’t withstand the cosmic mana descending from the Constellation, and their nervous systems melted.

Flow really wasn’t easy.

My research stopped here. Not because I lacked perseverance, but because no matter how much I thought about it, no further methods came to mind at this point.

However, I was many. Completely independent of me, Clone 5—who had been fiddling with the Nectar Well on his own—seemed to have discovered something.

∞

I, Clone 5 in charge of the “Nectar Oasis,” was responsible for monitoring the most important ecosystem in this world.

First. Among the god fragments were spiritual ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠land and spiritual realm.

Second. The Nectar Well was spiritual land.

Third. Its function was to condense the flow of mana to create Nectar.

And Abhojuth was something like a parasite on that land—or perhaps a separate life form merged into one. The term “fairy” felt even more horrifying than I’d imagined.

“The only one who would create something like that and still insist on calling it a fairy is you, Sir Biin.”

Strangely, the moment I gained the clone ability, the angel also split and attached herself to each clone, spouting nonsense… but I decided to ignore it. I hoped Abhojuth hadn’t been hurt by hearing that.

First, the current level of the Nectar Well was 9. An insane number. Abhojuth’s level was also 9. It would soon reach 10.

The diameter of the Nectar Well was nearly 8 kilometers. Its depth was 100 meters. The surface area came to about 50 square kilometers.

I casually called it the Nectar Oasis, but this was truly enormous.

As far as I knew, the largest oasis on Earth was 85 square kilometers. In other words, if its level rose just a little more, it would surpass Earth’s largest oasis and should be called a Nectar Lake.

And this entire vast quantity of the Nectar Oasis was packed full of Nectar. Unlike before, it didn’t even touch a freshwater layer. Thanks to Abhojuth’s efforts, even though water continued to be generated, it was all consumed internally.

Instead, no life forms other than the Dessert Legion would be able to obtain Nectar from here.

Because from the lake’s surface all the way to the bottom, it was completely packed with jelly, pudding, and gummies.

Around it were Bisyakheet, penguin-like Gamchi that could tear apart Abhojuth’s tentacles and suck the fluid, and do the same thing to a human head. There were also ladder Gamchi that used huge, swelling beaks to swallow floating jellies by the mouthful. And so on. Among my ecosystems, this place was the most bountiful—and the most horrifying.

I performed a comprehensive inspection of the area.

“Abhojuth. Is the restoration going smoothly?”

I see. It seemed the total number of creatures had taken a heavy hit, but the species diversity hadn’t suffered much.

This was entirely because Shikadoz couldn’t approach the Nectar Lake.

When that bastard tried to fire its damn beam cannon at the lake, every Bisyakheet and Pudding in the vicinity charged at it, trying to tear the thing apart. Abhojuth had even tried to capture it and drag it down below the Nectar Well.

However, to reach level 10, the area needed to double from here… In other words, it had to reach 100 square kilometers. Only then would production increase enough.

And that meant swallowing ten more lands. Since not all the terrain I’d consumed was desert, eventually sunlight would decrease, putting a limit on this insane productivity.

That would mean stagnation for my entire ecosystem.

“The sensible solution would be to create a spiritual realm that continuously supplies sunlight and heat. And if we establish a civilization that grows by consuming Nectar to constantly maintain that spiritual realm…”

That was too complicated and would make me overly dependent on Sesaisa, so I decided to solve it through ecological means.

“Oh please.”

Fundamentally, the Nectar Well’s growth depended entirely on incoming mana.

And that mana influx came from three sources: mana production by jellies receiving sunlight, mana influx through the spiritual realm, and influx through [Gel].

“Influx through Gel?”

You know, the decomposer and bacteria-type organisms I created. Those guys melt dead creatures using the power of sunlight to absorb nutrients and release mana.

Looking at it from the god’s perspective, the mana pressure the Gel added to the Nectar Well accounted for at least one-third of the total.

“Really…? I couldn’t see it at all.”

It’s hard to notice. But these [Gel] that had evolved at an incredible speed while I wasn’t looking—I could do a lot more with them.

Using the [Gel], I could raise the mana pressure across the entire world. That increased mana pressure would pour into the Nectar Well along the spiritual realm Sesaisa had installed.

“That’s a good idea. So how exactly can we utilize those slime-like microorganisms?”

First, some of the Gel had evolved into parasites or bacteria-like “diseases.” They couldn’t hunt directly, but since they could melt and eat corpses, they began producing toxic substances to passively kill living creatures.

“Actually, those bacteria and parasites were supposed to appear during the disaster phase, but you’re already facing a disaster.”

Ah. For now, I’d modify these toxic and infectious Gel a bit, infect them into candies, and redesign it so that when the candies burst, the toxins and pathogens would spray everywhere. I’d leave it to the clone in charge of the desert forest.

“The next opponent is going to be so pitiful.”

But in truth, these infectious Gel weren’t very numerous. Usually they simply parasitized, sucked up nutrients, and when the host died, they consumed the corpse as well before releasing mana.

Gel that had evolved in another way had become slightly harder. They formed clumped mycelium like mushrooms or mold, actively spreading, eating even the tiniest scraps, and breaking down mana.

Some, in their clumped state, even burrowed into other jellies or Gamchi. When those creatures died for any reason, they immediately began devouring the corpse.

When I looked at it that way…

“Hmm?”

“What is it?”

“Just a moment… This.”

There was nothing to touch?

“Pardon?”

No, seriously—there was nothing to touch. I had intended to spread the Gel throughout the world, but they had evolved by turning their bodies into something like mold, parasitizing the Gamchi, and spreading widely from there.

In short, my world had already been completely infected by the Gel long ago. Even if I wanted to raise mana efficiency further, I couldn’t. Everything that died in my ecosystem was already completely devoured by those life forms.

“Then the only way left is to create civilization to increase efficiency even more…!”

As expected, was the only option to massively increase the number of life forms themselves and offer them as food for the Gel? But the energy conversion efficiency on that would be pretty bad.

“That’s too much. Seriously.”

But wasn’t the efficiency lower than expected? Feeling that, I checked why the Gel weren’t producing much mana compared to what they decomposed. There might be some problem.

And in the process, I discovered something truly unexpected.

On top of the corpses, the clumped Gel wriggled, and some of them sparkled.

“Hmm…?”

How had they evolved in that way? No, more importantly—why had they evolved like that?

When I examined it, I found that the [Toppings]—my third created life form—were parasitizing the Gel that were parasitizing the Puddings. A parasite’s parasite.

The mana emitted by the Gel was consumed by the Toppings, which in turn granted the Gel mobility and bioluminescence.

Then the Gel became noticeable to other Gamchi, who ate the sparkling Gel, naturally became infected, lived on, died, and were eaten by the Gel again.

“Quite an interesting evolution. So they used mana to increase their own reproductive success.”

An unexpected evolution. It was like the scene of archaea and mitochondria merging to create eukaryotes.

Creatures that absorbed mana and produced mobility coexisted with organisms that emitted mana. How could I use this…?

Suddenly, one thing flashed through my mind.

Those were the words Sesaisa had said to another clone a little while ago.

But wait. This thing called “flow”—wasn’t it all “flow” as long as mana was moving?

In that case, since [Toppings] ate mana and moved, weren’t they life forms that created “flow” in the spiritual flow realm?

“I don’t fully understand what you’re thinking right now, but it seems like an incredibly horrifying idea.”

I used the knowledge understood by the clone who was diligently receiving education from Sesaisa.

Using divinity to artificially create flow, then using divinity again to condense it and fix it so it didn’t deviate from the surrounding flows. That was the fundamental principle of spiritual realm construction—Yeong-rip-hak.

I would do that using [Gel fused with Toppings].

The interactions of the Gel that had reached the realm of mystery from the material realm became flow, fixed by the material of living organisms.

The flow then moved the spiritual flow realm, turning pure material-realm life into a single structure that manipulated the vast flows of the spiritual realm.

And the moment the Gel-fused Toppings constructed that way were laid across the Creamland connected to the Nectar Well in the Open-pit Mine—with the help of Clone 4…

∞

“Hehehe… Biin. You’re going to hand over quite a lot of points to me this time, aren’t you?”

“Hmm…”

Sesaisa had contributed to Biin’s world with tremendous enthusiasm.

Because fundamentally, he needed to extract Biin’s ecological knowledge.

Rather than calling him over every time to temporarily manage the world, it was better to suck out all the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knowledge he possessed and let him adjust his own world.

Biin possessed a lot of knowledge, but most of it was empirical or proficiency-based knowledge gained through the “game.” His actual academic level didn’t seem particularly high.

In contrast, as a scholar, Sesaisa was confident that no matter how unfamiliar the subject, once he set his mind to studying it, he could reach a fairly high level.

Manipulating the spiritual flow realm for a while was nothing compared to the ecological knowledge he would receive afterward… Once he obtained that knowledge, he wouldn’t have to stay entangled with this guy for very long.

But suddenly, Biin—who had been conversing with Sesaisa—spoke.

“Ah. Done.”

“Huh…? What is?”

When he turned his head for a moment, both from the spiritual realm’s perspective and the material realm’s, the spiritual realm named Creamland was writhing madly and had connected directly to the spiritual land called the Nectar Well—straight through, without any problems.

It was a sight that utterly transcended Sesaisa’s understanding of how spiritual realms and spiritual lands connected.

The next moment, the Nectar Well—now also connected to the Creamland in the sky—began absorbing an enormous flow. It overflowed and swallowed the surrounding terrain. That was truly shocking.

“Oh. The Nectar Well reached level 10. Success. Those things are now [Syrup]. Since [Gel] and [Topping] merged, it’s the perfect name.”

“W-wait a moment. How on earth…?! What exactly did you do?! You! How did you connect spiritual land and spiritual realm directly like that?!”

Biin slowly looked at Sesaisa. Then he said one thing.

“Well. It looks like you’re going to hand over quite a lot of points to me.”