Infinite Farmer: A Plants vs Dungeon

Cooking only a took a moment, which left some time for Tulland to take stock of the farm before Necia actually made it home. The first move was to plant the Clubber Vines, which would be a little burst of new strength just from farm quality. That took longer than Tulland liked, just because there was a deeper hole to dig than he was used to.

“Decent of you to give him a burial.” Ley watched as Tulland rolled the body of the archer he had killed into the hole, stripped of all of its equipment and most of its clothes. “Can’t say he deserves it.”

“I don’t think so either. But this is something different.” Tulland was doing his best to ignore the gravity of what he was up to, but he couldn’t afford to waste resources. If his Farmer’s Intuition had gained a full level just from telling him that basically all of his vines would enjoy human fertilizer, then it was an important thing. Subtly, and so Ley couldn’t see, he cut off a bit of flesh from his enemy to save in a bag and use later. It wouldn’t take much to run a couple of batches in the splicer and see what popped out, and he didn’t want to think more about how to store it until he could do just that. “This is for the farm. Don’t ask.”

“I won’t. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why that might work. You can bury him all in one place like that?” Ley asked.

“The skill I use for farming says it would be better to… split him up. I don’t want to.” Tulland shook his head. “This will eventually work its way through all the soil. And I can plant briars right on top of it. It will be enough.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Sure.”

“You look like hell. You look like I did the first time I took someone down. If you think I’m judging you for not following that farming advice, I’m not. I’m impressed you even remembered to take the equipment off.”

“About that. Anything here you can use?”

“You can’t use it?” Tulland asked.

“No.”

“Then yes. Put out the word that I’m looking for weird meats or plant seeds. Not just for the bow. For food, if people want it. No use hiding what I can do now, considering we’re already being hunted.”

“So you’re trying to get every bit of strength that you can. Smart. No use doing it halfway.”

After the grains were done, Tulland and Ley gulped down a bowl apiece and still found themselves with some time before Necia got back. Tulland pulled out the splicer, then looked at his farm, thoughtfully.

“So. I can probably make one aspect of what I do stronger,” Tulland said. “I have to decide what.”

“That new plant, the slappy one. No question. It’s already strong, for what it is,” Ley said.

“No good. That one’s already as strong as it can get. What I’m doing won’t work on it.”

“That’s harder, then.” Ley reached down and unlaced his shoes, sighing as they came off for the first time in days. “The usual wisdom with choose-your-own-benefit buffs like that is to find whatever the weakest part of the combat capabilities you regularly use and bring it up to snuff. For you, I said to do that vine because if it got much better, you’d almost be safe based just on that.”

“But if I can’t?”

“Then we’re right back to the weakest thing. And that’s that weapon of yours. Is there anything you can do for it?”

“Maybe.”

Tulland’s pitchfork was stronger and worked better when his stats were higher, but there were some steps in between. High mental stats let him grow better things, which he could then load into the weapon to make it stronger. The better and better suited the plants were, the more durable and damage-dealing it was. But he had noticed it went further than that. When his weapon had become better in the past, he had become slightly better at using it as well. Or at least he thought it had.

Is that even possible? That my weapon makes me better at fighting?

Rare, but possible. It’s likely how Licht’s class works, and why he uses monster parts in his bolts.

So my mental stats feed back into how well I can physically fight?

Possibly. And even if they do, it would be at a lower rate than warrior classes.

But not the kind of thing I can ignore.

Likely not, no. How much attention you should put into it as an exact thing is over the line, though. I can’t tell you about that.

Not a single one of Tulland’s briars was a good match for his weapon, since all of their utility came from being partially alive and the process of converting them to a weapon would kill them. That left his trees and mosses. The Ironbranch was a good option, as was the Jewel Moss. Any increase in quality there would transfer to his ability to fight directly, either by making his weapon shaft harder to break or the tines of his pitchfork sharper and tougher.

Between the two, he would probably go with the Jewel Moss. But that was only if it was between the two. And before he decided, he wanted to experiment with just one more thing. Since he and Necia had grown the Stonefruit tree, he had been thinking about uses for it. While they were on the last floor, it occurred to him that he was potentially being very dumb. He had been thinking of the ultra-tough pits the fruits bore as too small for most kinds of crafting, but that wasn’t necessarily true. His Farmer’s Tool didn’t think of materials like that. It could uptake whatever it wanted in whatever quantities it wanted, pulling in the material and crafting it into the needed shape.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Tulland split open several of the fruits and removed the pits, then held his breath as he lifted them up to the tool. If this worked, he could probably make the whole damn weapon out of the things, given enough time.

It didn’t work.

“Damn,” Tulland said.

“What?” Ley lifted his head up.

“I wanted to use these pits for something. They won’t work. Kind of cheap, The Infinite.”

“Shh. Don’t say that.” Ley looked around, worried. “It’s bad luck.”

“Well, either way, this won’t work. Which means I should use…”

Tulland turned back to the Ironbranch trees and Jewel moss. Either would be a safe bet. And yet, somewhere deep, he had a suspicion that both would still be a mistake, even if they worked.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

System, how much risk is too much risk?

An impossible question that only a fool would ask.

Come on. I have a safe bet, and a dangerous bet. The dangerous bet might pay off more. I have a feeling. It’s stupid to go with that, right? Just dumb?

Not necessarily. The calculation in the real world and in a mundane dungeon would be different.

The System stopped. It liked to be asked about things. Tulland was more than willing to play along.

And here? Can you give me an idea whether or not it would be a good idea here? Or is that over that line you can’t talk over?

It’s hard to say. I suppose I could talk until I’m restricted, if you like.

Please do.

Well, then. I think you know that in a normal situation, you might talk about taking unnecessary risk. The idea would be that there are some risks that are simply avoidable. You wouldn’t risk your life for a bit more money when by being careful you could assure yourself hundreds of more days from which to profit.

And seeing your family again and living your normal life.

Just so. But here, you have no family, and your friendships are a temporary sort of thing. A climber in The Infinite has no goals but to push as far as they can. It inspires a different sort of bet, one that emphasizes caution less.

I wouldn’t think it would make that much difference. Say I could assure myself a few more floors by playing things safe. Why would I take a risk right now? I could go for the guaranteed growth.

Which would make perfect sense if, like home, your rewards were linear.

I don’t know that term.

It’s… imagine at home each floor was worth ten.

Ten what?

Lumps of gold. Pounds of treasure. Doesn’t matter. Just ten points of something. And the next is worth ten, and the next. Here, that pattern breaks. Each floor is worth more than the last. Major milestones are worth even more.

Like the fifth? That’s where you began to turn a profit on this little betrayal, correct?

Correct. Like always, the System did not deny the fact that it had betrayed Tulland. It didn’t bring the topic up, which was weirdly understandable at this point. And if you clear the tenth, I’ll be far beyond that. Ever so much more than double. Betting in a way that gets you to those thresholds creates a reward that is disproportionately large.

I see.

Not quite yet, I think. Because there’s something else to consider. Every climber in The Infinite gives their System something to take back to their world. But those who set records do even more. It’s the highest honor, the most definite and useful punishment. If a world sends hundreds a year, what do you think you would need to do to beat them? To surpass every legend that had ever existed in a particular realm?

Tulland began to understand. When The Infinite was new, it was probably a matter of skill and skill alone that determined how far people went. Eventually, some particularly talented person would see a bit of luck and push farther. Then someone would get even luckier. Eventually, it might take thousands of people rolling the dice to string together enough wins to surpass their ancestors’ best lucky streak.

But eventually, someone would get a better result on their dice rolls. I’m assuming the benefits for setting a new record would surpass the increases for passing more floors and thresholds?

Of course. New ages have been set that way. Of course, your goals are different from theirs. You are trying to do an impossible thing. The bet might not be worth it, in your case.

That was true. If The Infinite was a one-way ticket to death, and everyone seemed to agree that it was, then eventually the System would get a reward from Tulland’s death, something it would use to break the stranglehold that the Church had on its powers. Tulland’s own plan wasn’t that well-formed, but to the extent he even had one, it was to survive long enough to figure something else out. Some way of escape. Some method to beat the odds and keep on going.

That hadn’t changed even with the System’s revelations that the Church wasn’t all it had represented itself to be. He still hadn’t seen any real indications that the Church was bad, as such. Just the fact that at one point the System had been friends with the founder wasn’t enough to change his mind on anything substantial.

So I should take the big risk?

That I can’t tell you. That’s the limit. But at least you should consider it differently than you have before.

Tulland looked over his plants one more time. The Ironbranch and Jewel moss were still there, safe and secure choices he knew he should really, really pick. He moved towards the siren’s call of the Stonefruit tree anyway.

“This is stupid.” He pulled one of the fruits off the tree, ejected a fresh seed, and spent a massive amount of magic power getting it up to snuff before shoving it in the splicer. Holding the vial of fertilizer over it, he broke it open and sprinkled the contents in the chamber, then closed it up. The splicer gave him the same this-could-take-as-long-as-a-day message as before, and Tulland resigned himself to waiting for whatever results came of his arguably bad decision.

“You look like you swallowed a fish. Whole.” Necia’s hair was twisted into a single wet ponytail as she walked back in to the main house. “Why is that?”

“Oh. I just made a mistake, probably. Or something that will put me far, far ahead of the game,” Tulland said.

“Ah. One of those.” Necia sat and scooped out some food. “They have full books about that kind of decision back on my world. There are people who think they have worked out formulas for it.”

“Have they?”

“No. At least nobody takes them seriously if they have. It all boils down to the idea that if you want to be great, you have to take risks. How big was this one?”

“The entire reward from the last floor.”

“Ah. Well, fingers crossed. Are you going to bathe now?”

“Yeah.”

“Just stay close to town. That scary sentry warning White gave won’t do you much good if you’re far enough away for nobody to notice when you get attacked.”