Deckard rubbed his hands together. Between Redbeard’s quest, mob drops, and the gear he’d sold—boss loot, elite gear, random finds—he’d scraped together 26 gold. He wasn’t sure what the average beginner carried when they first reached the city, but after a full month on Beginner Island, he had to be in the upper bracket.
Around him, players strutted about in full sets of armor or sleek robes, their weapons polished and shining. Compared to them, he looked like a beggar. But that was about to change.
Time to see what gear this gold can get me.
He opened the marketplace listings and set the filter: Equipment, No Restrictions. Anything wearable by anyone, regardless of level or class.
The results began collapsing in rapid scrolls—thousands dwindling to hundreds, flickering away in a blur of text.
Deckard frowned. Most of the good gear was locked behind level caps or class requirements. What remained was a thin, sorry pool.
He tightened the filter, sorting by power, with the highest average stats on top.
At the very top of the list, framed in glowing blue text, was a shield.
Tidebound Bulwark (Rare)
Item description: Forged from the hull of a drowned battleship and reinforced with coral and barnacle steel. It hums faintly, as if echoing the ocean’s pull.
Item effects:
+10 block;
+15% damage reduction;
+5% status resistance.
[High Tide]: Cleanse all debuffs. Cooldown: 2 hours.
Price: 1,300 gold
Deckard let out a low whistle.
He didn’t blame the seller. The shield was impressive—versatile, powerful, and classless. Who wouldn’t want it?
He kept scrolling. Plenty of listings caught his eye, but each one came with a monstrous price tag. With every flick of the list, his excitement dimmed. A thousand gold. Eight hundred. Six fifty. It was like watching his 26 gold shrivel into nothing.
“Let’s get real.”
He slapped in a budget filter: max five gold.
The list thinned to a pitiful trickle—half of which he recognized as junk he’d just listed himself. His heart sank.
There were only two tiers of unrestricted gear: trash or treasure. Nothing in between. On one end, there was the Shipwreck Shield—a couple of old planks tied together, with a single point of block. On the other, the Tidebound Bulwark sat smugly at 1,300 gold.
Had all the reasonably priced gear already been scooped up? Or was unrestricted equipment just that rare?
Above him, schools of tiny fish drifted across the glass ceiling, their colors rippling in the water’s light.
Maybe I’m doomed to wear garbage forever, he thought.
The potential for growth in his class was practically endless. No one knew exactly how many cards there were. New ones were discovered every day. There were several thousand, at least. Maybe the developers figured giving a Card Slinger good gear on top of that would be too OP.
He tapped his foot, restless. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something. Going through all the trouble of designing this class only to cut off access to gear didn’t make sense.
His eyes flicked to his hat. Right—his hat. It grew with alignment.
His pulse quickened.
What if there are items locked behind alignment requirements?
He reset the marketplace filters. This time, instead of clearing every restriction, he left only class and level locked. Everything else was fair game.
The list exploded—from a few hundred items to several thousand.
He scrolled. Just as he’d hoped, there were other options out there. Some restrictions had nothing to do with class or level.
Some gear was tied to alignment.
Crime-Scene Gloves (Uncommon)
These dark leather gloves have faded bloodstains that no one could clean. Formerly worn by Black Alley assassins. Now they whisper secrets to those with a dark past.
Item effects:
+2 attack
+1% critical strike chance
+1 stealth
Restrictions: Requires Evil alignment
Other items were profession-based—tailoring, smithing, cooking.
Ornamented Cane (Uncommon)
Crafted from a rare exotic wood, this cane gives its wielder an air of mystery and wealth.
Item effects:
+5 Kg carry capacity;
+1 charisma.
Restrictions: Merchant, level 10
A few were reputation-locked.
Honorary Bronze Aquascape Helm (Uncommon)
A polished bronze helm awarded to those who’ve earned the trust of Aquascape’s Garrison. It carries the scent of sea salt and discipline.
Item effects:
+2% damage reduction;
+3 attack speed;
+10 HP.
Restrictions: Requires friendly reputation with Aquascape Garrison.
Deckard sighed in relief. There were several options available to him after all—and it wasn’t just the variety. It was the possibility of scaling. Some items had upgraded versions locked behind higher requirements.
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Tapping the Honorary Aquascape Helm, Deckard searched for related items. There were entire gear sets linked to the garrison, ranging from a bronze version to silver and gold, in effect.
There was room to grow here. A ladder built right into the system.
This is it. The backdoor into stronger gear I was looking for.
Deckard’s thoughts buzzed. His class might hold him back, but alignment, reputation, profession—those were conditions he could meet. Keys he could collect.
I just need to figure out which paths are worth chasing—and which equipment fits me.
He almost pulled up a notepad to start mapping routes right then and there, but he stopped himself. Not yet. First, he needed to get a proper lay of the land. He still had two more stops to make after leaving the Auction House.
Race, gear requirements… I’ve got a lot to figure out.
He backed out of the equipment menu and opened a new tab. He typed card into the search engine, and the screen flooded with listings—thousands of them.
Deckard blinked. “Whoa. That’s… a lot.”
Nova Cardia had had thousands of cards, too. But he wasn’t looking at the entire Terralore pool. These were just the cards for sale in one of hundreds of cities across the AstroTerra world. What would it be like to collect them all? What would happen if he added them all to his [Dimensional Binder]?
Practically drooling, he checked the legendary listings. Only twenty were available. The cheapest sat at 200 gold. The most expensive was being auctioned, with the current bid at 2,000 gold—and just a few days left until the auction closed.
He read the details and clenched his fists. What an awesome card.
He wanted it. Badly.
Dragonfish, The Terror of the Deep
Rarity: Legendary
Type: Creature
Affinity: ??/??
Cost: 3
Points: 1
Effect: Destroy all creatures and landmarks.
What a cool card. I didn’t even know there were cards with dual affinity!
A card that reset the board, removed landmarks, and had a point to boot. That meant even if the enemy had thrown up an invincible wall in their defending lane, this creature could still enter the field, wipe their defenses, and land a solid hit.
Sadly, he didn’t even have enough for the cheapest legendary, much less this rare gem.
There’s a silver lining, though. Based on these prices, if he ever got his hands on a spare legendary, he could sell it for a small fortune.
Next, he checked the Epics. Prices ranged from 100 to 500 gold—some even outpriced legendaries. That didn’t surprise him. Rarity didn’t always mean power.
Rares hovered between 20 and 150. Uncommons mostly fell between 50 silver and 30 gold. Commons? Some cost just a few copper, others a gold at most—though the average landed around two silver.
Deckard adjusted his spectacles, calculating quickly.
I’ve got 26 gold. That’s 2,600 silver. If the average common costs two silver… I could buy around 1,300 of them.
In theory, if I spent everything on Commons, I could gain a massive stat boost.
His heart beat a little faster. If he went down that path, he might not even need gear at all.
Were there even that many standard cards? He adjusted the filters. Not quite—not here in Aquascape, at least. There were nearly 800 commons for sale. Still, that was plenty.
But was it smart to spend all his gold this way? Or would it be better to save up for gear—or invest in cards that could actually make it into his deck?
He scratched the back of his head.
He hadn’t expected to be making so many important decisions the moment he stepped into the city. Another item for his growing research list.
He punched in a new search: Island-Affinity Cards.
A fresh batch of results popped up—seabirds, tropical birds, crustaceans, turtles, starfish, shellfish, primates, and related skills. Some looked promising. But they cost significantly more than two silver coins.
As he browsed, his eyes landed on an epic card he would’ve loved to buy right then and there.
Exoskeletal Wall ??
Rarity: Epic
Type: Skill
Affinity: ???
Cost: 2
Effects: Both players become immune to damage this turn.
Synergy: Only you become immune to damage.
It was just his kind of card. A control tool that could deny a player a win while buying him time.
I want this card so bad!
It was among the more reasonably priced epics, at 250 gold, but still ten times more than he owned right now.
Yeah… maybe bulk-buying commons isn’t the smartest move.
Boosting stats was nice, but most commons didn’t even make it into your deck—and if they did, they were rarely game-changers. A pile of common cards wasn’t worth going broke over.
Worse, it could leave him flat broke and stuck with filler cards while other players snatched up the real power pieces.
He stood and stretched. That was enough browsing for now. But the next time he came here, he’d be ready—with a plan and enough gold to actually act on it.
What a bummer. He’d walked in buzzing with excitement, expecting a full makeover. Instead, he was leaving with more questions than answers—and no purchases to show for it.
He rubbed the back of his neck and closed the listings. Being patient sucked sometimes.
Oh well. I’ll make it count when I do come back.
Leaving the Auction House, he headed back toward the main square—only to be interrupted by a soft chime.
Someone has purchased 50x[Crab Meat] in Aquascape’s Auction House for 5 silver.
At least the trip hadn’t been for nothing. He’d cleared out some inventory, and a little cash was already starting to trickle in.
Not the leap he’d hoped for—but a step forward all the same.
Still, a win was a win. And he’d take every one he could get.
He followed it from the heart of Aquascape, weaving through polished avenues. Streets carved from stone glistened under steady gaslamps. Behind glass panes, storefronts gleamed. NPC merchants and craftsmen moved with purpose, while armored guards marched in tight formation, their boots clacking in rhythm. Each guard’s armor bore an insignia: a cave with an eye. Clever branding, Deckard thought.
There were families strolling between shops with children in tow, pointing at displays or riding on the backs of colorful amphibians. The occasional android passed by, balancing towering stacks of crates with seamless precision.
Some NPCs rode massive iguanas, their scaly hides fitted with ornamental harnesses. Others zipped past on sleek hoverbikes, engines humming low. A few wore layered desert robes and turbans, completely covered from head to toe, while others trudged through the mist in thick raincoats—travelers, perhaps, from regions with vastly different climates.
Caravans of beasts and drones trailed behind dignitaries dressed in embroidered finery, accompanied by silent entourages of servants or guards. Wealthy officials, merchants, or power players—it was hard to say.
Players here had clearly come a long way since the mismatched scraps of Beginner Island. They’d chosen their classes and wore them like second skins. Warriors marched in full suits of armor. Espers glided by in sleek robes or long coats, metal rods slung over their backs. Medics moved with purpose, clad in agile, fitted gear designed for mobility and field work. Everyone walked like they had a mission.
Near the fountain, a guild recruiter called out to a cluster of new arrivals, waving a banner high overhead. The crest stitched into it showed a stylized kraken, its coiled limbs wrapped around a sinking ship.
“Looking for a real guild? Join the Krakens!” the recruiter called. “Ranked fifth in all of AstroTerra. Prove yourself in the trials, and we’ll get you outfitted—gear, resources, team support. Everything you need to go far.”
Deckard kept walking, only to hear another recruiter shouting nearby. Then another. And another after that. Guild presence here was even stronger than it had been on Beginner Island—louder, more confident, better funded.
But that energy didn’t last forever. As he moved farther from the square, the voices faded behind him—and so did the shine.
The further he went, the more the atmosphere darkened.
Signs lost their luster. The stone underfoot cracked and grew uneven. Gaslamps thinned out, replaced by creaking wooden poles and exposed bulbs powered by humming battery packs. Buildings gave way to makeshift shelters—timber frames, patchwork tin walls, tarps stretched over bent scaffolding.
It felt like two different cities stitched together—one made of prestige and polish, the other of grit and hustle.
The air thickened with the scent of rust and still water, mingling with something faintly sour. The background noise changed, too—no more idle chatter or merchant calls. Instead, he heard the distant clang of metal, the murmur of low voices, and the occasional sharp shout that cut through the haze.
The players had changed, too. Most here wore leather and kept to the edges, weapons tucked close. NPCs disappeared into shadows, cloaks drawn, heads low. No one approached him. A few glanced his way, then quickly looked off.
He’d crossed into a different ecosystem entirely—one where order wasn’t kept by city guards, but by an invisible hierarchy.
He’d reached the slums—Aquascape’s rogue’s paradise, and the turf of its crime families.
Just ahead, two guards flanked the entrance to a low cavern lit by flickering bulbs.
Deckard adjusted his spectacles and stepped forward into the shadows.
