The Creation of Abhojuth

Abhojuth.

I wonder what its Trait is. What about its Divinity? In the game it was probably just some kind of code that fiddled with formulas and data, but now that it’s become reality I have no idea what mechanisms Traits and Divinity actually run on.

Still, I suspect they’re fundamentally the same. Some transcendent, incomprehensible force that spits out results without revealing the principles behind them.

If that’s true, then a Trait that instantly and permanently benefits the entire world might as well be an existence possessing infinite divine power.

It wasn’t. Infinite divine power, my ass.

Now I’m curious what levels even are. And “points,” too. What criteria are they calculated from?

Huh? No way. That would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wreck the entire ecosystem. If the ecosystem’s going to collapse anyway…

“Can I pay the cost by offering the creatures that already exist in my ecosystem instead?”

The angel answered instantly, aware of how serious the question was.

“It is possible if you sacrifice life forms equivalent to 926 Life points.”

I currently had close to 1,600 points, so that was roughly seventy-five percent of the world. Exactly the amount of life points needed to reach level four.

“Instead of sacrificing random creatures, can you arrange it so every region and every species loses individuals at an even rate?”

“That is possible if you expend all your current Divinity plus an additional 233 Life points.”

“Good. Do it.”

Creaaaaak.

The deepest part of the Nectar Well split open like a gaping mouth.

It inhaled. Every drop of water, every jelly, pudding, gummy, gel, and topping in the Nectar Oasis was sucked inside. Still not satisfied, the monstrous suction dragged in fish, frogs, rock jellies, and even the livestock, creatures, and insects from the opponent’s world that had just been absorbed. Everything vanished into the maw at the ecosystem’s center.

Squirm—! Squirm—! Squirm—!

It greedily devoured the life forms and began shaping a body. As if the fragment of god was no empty boast, an indistinct divine silhouette flickered into existence before being sculpted into the exact fairy form I had imagined.

The creature opened a single enormous eye made of jelly-like crystal and spread its maw wide. Then it thrust tentacles and cilia toward the sky.

It was a completely amorphous being composed entirely of jelly, pudding, gel, and other agar-like substances—no clear boundary between inside and outside.

Having devoured a colossal amount of life, its vitality pulsed violently. The Fairy of the Nectar Well ravenously consumed the surrounding mana, water, and organisms through its tentacles and mouth, then vomited out thick, rich nectar.

Finally it cried out in a language I could understand.

The majestic sight of something that could create infinite life and birth the very essence of life…

“Abhojuth.”

A name that suited the fairy of my world perfectly.

“That sounds more like a name for a twisted ancient entity than a fairy.”

Coming from something that wasn’t even an angel, the remark felt surprisingly fresh.

My own world was extreme, but this thing’s stats were ridiculous too.

The average ability score for an ordinary human in the game was 100.

Well, it was a fantasy world so things could keep getting stronger, and “intelligence” was such a broad category that 200 intelligence didn’t mean twice as smart as a normal person, but still…

Anyway, this creature had the mass of about three and a half people, combat power no better than a small dog, dexterity worse than a chicken, intelligence better than a mutt but worse than a border collie, charm equivalent to an unattractive human (I remembered that value included the ability to terrify others with hideous looks or project charisma and spirit), fragile mentality, and overwhelming Authority.

Obviously that overwhelming Authority was exactly what I expected.

“Abhojuth. Produce nectar.”

This guy was loud. Its voice trembled and sounded downright grotesque.

Abhojuth opened its eye and mouth wide, sucked in every scrap of mana it could, and sprayed nectar wildly through the tentacles inside its body.

Now it could supply thick nectar directly to the upper layers through tentacles that extended from the bottom, not just the diluted nectar that had pooled on the lake floor.

For the jellies in the upper layers that had only been able to eat heavily diluted nectar, this was incredible news.

But the tentacles’ function didn’t stop there. The ones that stretched above the surface sucked in air, water, heat, and light, then released them through the eye at the bottom. They also stirred the lake at regular intervals, creating something like ocean currents.

In other words, it mixed all the water, air, nectar, light, and heat inside the lake. Thanks to that, the environment of the Nectar Oasis—which had been nearly uninhabitable in the upper, middle, lower, and bottom layers—became uniform. Every creature could now obtain exactly the elements it needed most.

That wasn’t all. Abhojuth used the tentacles that reached below the floor to scoop out accumulated sand, rearrange coral, and dig even deeper.

Like a landscaper maintaining an aquarium, Abhojuth beautifully and precisely balanced the ecosystem inside the Nectar Oasis.

Naturally, the life inside the oasis exploded.

The surging population produced more water and mana. Abhojuth drank the mana and produced even more nectar. The over-proliferating sun toppings caused by the high-mana environment made the lake shine brilliantly, almost as if it were boiling.

The jellies, now supplied with every survival necessity, dug into the bedrock like lunatics. Abhojuth extended more tentacles and constantly adjusted the ever-changing environment of the Nectar Oasis.

Now at level 5, the Nectar Well was roughly three kilometers across and sixty meters at its deepest point. Because the average depth had increased dramatically, its actual volume was far larger than the diameter suggested.

The Nectar Well had grown so vast that it had nearly devoured the original rock desert I received. A little more expansion and it would swallow Oswald’s freshwater lake whole.

Then just let it swallow the lake. Nectar wasn’t a pollutant, and if the freshwater creatures could eat diluted nectar, all the better.

At level 6 the Nectar Oasis had doubled in size again. It was now divided into the original freshwater zone and the thick nectar zone managed by Abhojuth.

The rock and sand that had once separated Oswald’s desert from mine were completely destroyed, fusing the two into one. All that destroyed rock and sand had been transformed into the shells of countless organisms or the remains of those shells.

There was no longer an Oswald Desert or an Oswald Oasis. Only the Dessert Desert and the single vast Nectar Swamp above it remained.

“Poor Oswald. Not even his name survived.”

“That’s what happens to the first one who dies.”

Just watching this place would generate a steady stream of Life points. Even though I had spent a massive amount of life to create Abhojuth, the ecosystem had grown far healthier than before.

The fish and frogs that once lived in freshwater adapted to the influx of ultra-nutritious nectar and the newly introduced jellies and puddings. Some grew larger, others became smaller and faster, evolving rapidly through fierce competition.

I didn’t need to lift a finger. In fact, touching anything now would probably ruin the balance that was stabilizing so quickly on its own.

“You’re doing excellently. You’re genuinely amazing.”

It wasn’t empty praise. Abhojuth was a truly capable administrator. I personally preferred self-sustaining ecosystems that didn’t require intelligent intervention over ones that collapsed without it.

“Your tastes are certainly consistent. Abhojuth is an intelligent being, yet you’re fine with that?”

“Up to dolphin level is acceptable. I just dislike intelligent beings that build civilizations and create conflict.”

“Hmm.”

“In short, I’m quite fond of ant civilizations.”

“When you consider that some dolphins are smarter than humans on the borderline of intelligence, it really does just come down to you hating humans.”

That was about right. I might like the civilizations built by kind, benevolent, high-intelligence organisms.

Ah. Abhojuth’s existence had raised both of those scores too.

Since it was an intelligent being and a fairy bound to my world, it seemed to convert some of the mana it absorbed into pure Mystery and Faith resources instead of only nectar, then supplied them to me.

For the Mystery Trait I chose Increased Magic Pressure. It was a modest Trait that raised the mana level across the entire world. It would be useful if my opponent used magic, but since Abhojuth was devouring every scrap of mana in my world anyway, it didn’t matter much.

There were no selectable Traits for Faith. It had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that way since the game days.

However, higher Faith level and points increased the total amount, recovery rate, and power of the divine energy a player could use.

In other words, a single fairy named Abhojuth had allowed me to intervene in my ecosystem far more actively and boldly than before.

Fairies really were nice. Having one or two around the ecosystem wouldn’t be bad.

“No… this isn’t the fairy that protects the civilization I wanted…”

The angel kept shaking her head as if something was wrong, but she simply didn’t know how to play the game.

While managing the massive amount of life I had expended to create Abhojuth, and while making full use of the steadily rising divine power, I accelerated time inside the world, improved species that were about to go extinct but were still necessary to the ecosystem, and introduced natural enemies and predators to control species that had grown too numerous.

I was so absorbed that I didn’t notice how much time had passed until a moving voice rang out.

Even after sacrificing so many creatures, I had surpassed my previous total. I glanced at the angel, signaling that I wanted to see the Trait cards.

She pulled out three cards with a subtle expression.

“Hmm… given the current situation, these are what I can recommend.”

“Vigorous Metabolism 2.”

“You didn’t even hesitate.”

“It’s not that I didn’t hesitate. There simply wasn’t a real choice.”

“Pardon?”

I explained the obvious.

“Sapient Transformation is meaningless right now. I’m pouring every resource into ecological harmony. What’s the point of making something smarter? Even if intelligent beings appeared, they couldn’t build a civilization at this stage. We’re already past that point.

“Muscle Enhancement is the same. Strengthening one species’ muscles is functionally identical to weakening every other species. If I were a player who focused on raising only one species, maybe. But since I’m playing with ecological balance as the top priority, it was never an option.

“So the only remaining choice was to raise the Nectar Jellies’ metabolism. I’m not exactly thrilled about it either, but there were no better alternatives.”

Well, these kinds of situations were common when running an extreme ecosystem build, so I had no complaints.

“Hmm. I see. In that case, simply offering Traits creates its own problems. Hmm.”

Abhojuth would manage my world on its own for now, so maybe I should check out that community thing. I wanted to add more species of fish that could live in the Teimong River and the freshwater zones.

The moment I thought that, something resembling an internet browser appeared right in front of me.

I naturally reached out as if grabbing a mouse and keyboard that didn’t exist and began manipulating the screen.

It would be nice if I could obtain some lively specimens.