The Pauper's Strategy, The Rich Man's Strategy 3
The middle class. The lower-ranked soldiers. I set about fixing the Gumtoads, those middling forces in my ecosystem.
It was a fairly ambitious undertaking, but since the Dessert Legion fundamentally relied on overwhelming numbers, having more species that could multiply even further would be ideal. I decided to put in the effort and raise them to a usable level.
“Wow.”
“Zero soul in that response.”
“It’s because they have no connection to civilization at all……!”
First, I tweaked their genes.
Originally, they would keep growing as long as a certain flow existed nearby, even if that flow later vanished. I shifted their evolution so that when the flow diminished, their organs would simply stop functioning. I also made adjustments so their bodily infrastructure would ease the burden of gigantism.
“Why didn’t their bodies adapt to match their growth in the first place? From what you’re doing now, it doesn’t seem biologically impossible.”
Hmm. That was just speculation, but it wasn’t that they couldn’t adapt—it was that adaptation simply hadn’t caught up yet.
Take human wisdom teeth, for example. Back in our ape days, our jaws were larger and we had more molars.
Then, as Homo sapiens evolved, we started cooking food with fire and cutting it into small pieces, so we no longer needed to overwork our jaw muscles. Our jaws shrank accordingly.
So what are wisdom teeth? Roughly speaking, it goes like this:
‘Huh? The blueprint says to make one more molar? But there’s no space in the jaw.’
The body simply follows DNA instructions. So it crammed an extra molar into a smaller jaw anyway, and that’s what causes humans so much pain.
In other words, Homo sapiens are technically “ape-like creatures with jaws too small for their number of teeth.”
“Ah~ So that’s how it works?”
Exactly. But suppose, through some genetic fluke, a person developed a “defect” that meant they grew one fewer molar.
Then that person would become an ape with the perfect number of teeth for their jaw size—wisdom teeth gone.
That’s how evolution works. If teeth had decreased first and jaw size later, wisdom teeth would never have existed.
But evolution doesn’t care about that kind of logic. The same principle applied to these Gumtoads.
When dangerous magic appeared nearby, they evolved a mechanism to massively increase their size first. Dealing with the aftermath came later—evolution simply hadn’t gotten there yet. This way, they could at least survive the immediate danger of “now.”
Since things had turned out this way, I decided to lend a hand. When their size increased, their bodily infrastructure would scale accordingly. But I made sure not to make them perfectly adapted to that larger form.
“Why not?”
“Resource issues.”
“Ah. That problem again?”
Correct. Organisms are extremely sensitive to resource allocation.
There was a simple experiment once where researchers selectively bred rats with harder teeth until their teeth became absurdly tough.
As a result, cavities decreased and their teeth became monstrously durable. Since rats reproduce quickly, inducing change was relatively easy.
So why hasn’t this kind of evolution occurred in nature? Powerful teeth should have been advantageous for rodents that rely on them as weapons.
“Huh? You’re right. It seems like such an obvious benefit—why not?”
Simple. The resources required to make teeth were the same as those needed to make bones. In exchange for ridiculously hard teeth, the rats’ actual skeletons became weaker.
In other words, the moderately hard teeth of modern rats were the result of a compromise between skeletal density and dental durability.
This is what’s known as the expensive organ theory. A creature’s organs exist in balance. Pour too many resources into one area, and another area goes without.
Humans are a prime example. We gained enormous heads and high intelligence.
But because evolution of the pelvis and lower body lagged behind, unlike other primates, human females must endure hellish pain during childbirth. Other primates can give birth alone without needing a midwife.
And in exchange for superior intelligence, we received fragile digestive systems that malfunction at the slightest dietary mistake.
Just compare us to wetland creatures that can drink sewage without getting sick—you’ll immediately understand how weak human guts are.
Hell, eat slightly spoiled meat and we’re rolling around in agony all day. Vultures would just chow down happily.
“So what does that mean?”
Gigantic Gumtoads were no different. If I perfectly refined their body structure to maintain itself at that larger size……
They would actually end up smaller. Because supporting such a massive body with a perfectly balanced structure would require an enormous amount of resources.
Further down the line, they might even abandon their smaller form entirely and remain permanently large, rather than switching between sizes.
“That sounds like a plausible evolutionary path.”
Of course, both directions were excellent evolutions. I expected them to appear naturally and had no intention of stopping them.
But if possible, I wanted to evolve them into the most destructive and vicious creatures in enemy ecosystems. So instead of stopping at two meters, I aimed for a diameter of three meters.
Three meters across, weighing hundreds of kilograms. Even if their organs creaked, their skeletons and muscles twisted, their brains deteriorated, and their digestive systems failed, I wanted them to devour human-level lifeforms, maintain that size, and reproduce in massive numbers.
And in my ecosystem, they would live as ordinary small Gumtoads in low-mana areas.
“That’s either an incredibly vicious strategy…… or an efficient one.”
While working with these creatures, I discovered that the Gumtoads’ “gigantism gene” could be applied to all kinds of amphibians. With a bit more research, it might even work on reptiles.
“So we could see giant crocodiles, snakes, or turtles too? They already exist in your ecosystem.”
“Probably? Though the scale of growth would be smaller. It’s most specialized for amphibians.”
Mammals, birds, and Gamchi, however, were probably impossible. I couldn’t figure out how to reconcile it with their thermoregulation mechanisms…… In other words, it seemed to apply only to cold-blooded animals.
“Are you going to give these giant amphibians a name as well?”
Well. Creatures I taught caramelization to all got the “caramel~” prefix, whether they were camels or anything else.
Since any artiodactyl could be caramelized, my ecosystem already had caramel bison, caramel giraffes, and caramel deer.
But this one…… I wasn’t sure it needed a special name. A boring label like “giant Gumtoad” would probably suffice. I might run out of names later anyway.
“True. When you think about it, it’s not exactly a grand technique. It’s just a simple mystery that makes them swell up.”
Like a balloon inflating…… Wait!
“From now on, you shall be known as Gumtoads.”
“Wooooooow……”
For now they were just Gumtoads, but if I kept expanding the species, they might eventually become a subclass under the Gumfrog order. Though evolution was technically running in reverse……
Anyway, amphibians were an incredibly successful group of organisms. If you realized how many species of frogs, salamanders, newts, and caecilians had diverged, you’d be amazed.
Newts were so obscure that their Korean name was identical to the word for “eternity,” making them nearly impossible to search for. Caecilians weren’t even true newts—they just got named “legless newts” because they lacked limbs—but they were extremely niche creatures……
Still, amphibians had diversified tremendously.
But since I was already working with wetland amphibians capable of gigantism, I wanted to push further. I rather liked amphibians.
“In what way?”
Some salamanders already reached 1.8 meters. I wanted to try inserting the gigantism gene into those. The same went for newts, which belonged to the salamander family. Could amphibians claim the ecological niche of monitor lizards? Would a salamander dragon be possible?
Then there were caecilians—amphibians shaped like long snakes without limbs. They could probably gigantify too, potentially replacing giant snakes.
But honestly, the most exciting potential from these gigantified amphibians lay elsewhere.
“What is it?”
“Amphibians are famous for producing some of the world’s most vicious toxins. Poison dart frogs that can kill humans just by touch, for example.”
“Ooh. Uh. Ooh.”
Of course, toxins were also extremely expensive organs, and large body size was an expensive trait as well. That’s why big snakes lacked venom while small frogs possessed devastating poisons……
Could these Gumtoads evolve beyond mere size and start emitting the world’s most vicious toxins?
“Don’t ask me. I only know about civilization.”
Not helpful.
While pondering how to give frogs venom glands, I suddenly realized something.
Amphibians didn’t even have venom glands, did they?
“Eh?”
Well, it varied by species, but amphibians generally consumed toxic prey and concentrated the toxins within themselves, right?
In that case, the cost might not be as high as I thought.
Nyaltartep possessed both the ability to create insects and poisonous plants. If I had her produce toxic insects for them to eat and then concentrate that poison, the results might be quite usable.
“There is a method. But you mustn’t lose sight of the core principle.”
She had a point…… I was trying to cultivate “lower-ranked soldiers.”
Powerful troops that were both gigantic and venomous—I could create them. But how many resources would it take to raise them?
Ultimately, I wanted creatures that lived as ordinary Gumtoads when mana was scarce and became Gumtoads when mana increased. If I started relying on magic, that would be a problem. Depending on mysteries would only lead to competition with others in high-mana zones…… Hmm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just a thought.”
“Yes.”
“Are there any creatures in my ecosystem that can survive without using any magic at all?”
“……Hmm?”
“If Gumtoads are the middle class—capable of using large amounts of mana or living without it—what would the lower class be? Can a lower class that barely uses mana or can’t use it at all even exist? Even the insects in my world use some magic thanks to Nyaltartep.”
“It doesn’t seem like there are none.”
And how did they survive? In this fantasy world overflowing with magic, why would they deliberately live without using mana?
Thanks to Deity-World Oneness, finding them was surprisingly easy. It didn’t take long before I located the “lower class” of my world.
“What the hell is this.”
They appeared to be jelly-based lifeforms. Their bodies were soft, yet they wore shells. They crawled along like snails or caterpillars.
They were smaller than a finger joint—true snail-sized. Even the larger ones were only about the length of a finger.
“So their strategy is to live exactly like real snails?”
I wondered what they ate, but they didn’t even consume Nectar. They simply scavenged scraps of dead meat, insect corpses, and dug up soil to digest organic matter.
I couldn’t tell what survival strategy had allowed them to persist. They looked like easy prey. I could sense mana from them, but it was faint.
Just then, a swarm of Gamchi—the smallest creatures in my ecosystem—discovered them and came to feed.
Pop!
Suddenly, a mystery unfolded from the back of these tiny lifeforms. Analysis revealed it belonged to the bewitchment category.
It was a mystery that made them appear in the form their opponent found most repulsive.
To the Gamchi, their prey suddenly looked like excrement, so they lost interest and left.
“They accumulate small amounts of flow from their surroundings and release it in moments of crisis?”
In other words, a kind of toxin.
After all, if it prevented predators from eating them—whether through camouflage, strange odors, actual poison, or even mental attacks—it didn’t matter. An ecosystem strategy was simply whatever allowed survival.
“Hmm?”
“There you go again. What kind of horrifying idea did you come up with this time?”
“Looking at them made me realize something. You don’t necessarily need to kill or injure enemies to reduce their combat effectiveness, do you?”
“That’s true?”
Amphibians like the Gumtoads weren’t particularly strong, but they possessed organs that interacted with mysteries—in other words, they had potential to engage with the supernatural.
And these lowest-tier creatures had the ability to accumulate and release mysteries that functioned similarly to toxins.
Combining the two…… led to a simple conclusion.
“Sub-plan. Operation: Flood the battlefield with disgusting frog memes.”
“Just kill them honorably with spears and swords instead.”
I couldn’t rely solely on Yogur-tosoth to lower enemy morale.
I would go with a strategy of exhausting enemy morale using the most repulsive and disgusting creatures possible—ones that weren’t particularly strong.