The repository finally finished absorbing the elite crab.

  Collection updated.

  +0.2 attack

  Congratulations! You’ve captured all the cards from the crab’s ecosystem.

  Your repository cross-references all genetic information, granting you deeper insight into this environment.

  You’ve received [Molting Grotto].

  Molting Grotto

  Rarity: Rare

  Type: Landmark

  Affinity: Water

  Cost: 3

  Effect: Crustaceans get lane bonuses regardless of where they are.

  Deckard tightened his grip on the card.

  The artwork depicted the very place he'd spent countless hours—a damp, echoing labyrinth of dripping stone and briny air. Memories surged. Scrambling onto a high rock shelf as armored legs scraped against stone. The relentless chase of the Spider Crab. The final, desperate battle against the Claw.

  All that time hunting crabs. Two elites, one boss… and not a single clue that this card even existed.

  His jaw tightened. I didn’t see this card in any guides. That was interesting.

  If this dungeon had a card, maybe every dungeon did.

  And were these ‘location cards’ exclusive to dungeons? Or were there others—Stiltwave Village, for instance?

  The real question was how to obtain more.

  Maybe every creature in the dungeon has a tiny chance to drop one. That seemed like the most logical explanation. Unless…

  Are there hidden quests that reward these?

  He made a mental note to research more about these location cards later.

  Turning his attention to the card’s effects, he read aloud, “A landmark. First time I see this keyword.”

  He tapped the text, prompting a system window.

  Landmark – Effects persist between turns.

  His brows lifted slightly. Persistent effects. He’d seen plenty of those in his Nova Cardia days. They weren’t always flashy, but they built momentum over time. The longer a match dragged on, the more value they squeezed out.

  For someone like him—who thrived on control decks—this was exactly the kind of mechanic he loved.

  His eyes scanned the effect again. Crustaceans would keep their bonuses no matter where they were played. That was huge. A unit like [Crab Enforcer], which normally required an attacking lane to gain its +2 buff, could now be played defensively without losing power.

  Not bad.

  But then he noticed the restriction.

  Only crustaceans.

  A flicker of disappointment passed through him. If this worked for any creature, it would’ve been insane. His mind jumped to his strongest card—[Whale Shark]. It was already an incredible answer to aggro decks, but if he could drop it in any lane and still get maximum value? That would’ve been heavenly.

  But just crustaceans… that’s too limiting.

  How many crustacean cards even existed? So far, he’d only seen crabs on the island. No shrimps. No lobsters. If this card was going to be viable, there had to be more crustaceans in the game. Maybe it’s one of those cards that scales as you progress.

  Another thought struck him.

  Do landmarks take up one of my four creature slots per lane?

  If they did, that would be a considerable downside. But if they existed separately on the field, this card’s value skyrocketed.

  And then came the final question—one Deckard forced himself to consider every time he encountered a strong card.

  How do I counter it if someone plays this against me?

  So far, nothing he’d seen could handle landmarks. No removal, no silences, nothing. If someone built a proper landmark deck and he had no way to deal with it… that would be a nightmare.

  He exhaled. Let’s just hope I find a counter before I run into one.

  For now, at least, the job was done.

  The crab set was complete. His fifth full ecosystem. That was a milestone—a big one. Maybe even the kind that invited trouble.

  It felt too smooth. Too easy. No setbacks, no complications. Had he really just earned this without consequence?

  He drifted in the water, treading lightly to stay afloat, his gaze fixed on the jungle beyond the shoreline. The treeline stood still, undisturbed by wind or movement. No shifting leaves. No rustling branches. Nothing. And yet, the feeling lingered—like a weight pressing against his back, an unseen presence just beyond his field of vision.

  The ocean was supposed to be his buffer, his safeguard. He’d kept his distance for a reason. But distance didn’t mean safety. Was something watching from the shadows?

  He exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers to keep his movements calm. Stay sharp. Don’t let your guard down.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Last time, Ratu had only appeared after he swam across the stretch of ocean separating Trash Islet from Beginner Island. If the real trigger wasn’t just completing a set but approaching the jungle, then maybe he’d be safe as long as he stayed in the water. Or maybe he was already being hunted.

  By Ratu? Or by them?

  The silence stretched, thick and unnatural. Even the distant hum of insects seemed muted, as if the island itself was holding its breath. He kept his stance steady, scanning the treeline, the water, the horizon. Nothing. But his instincts wouldn’t settle.

  A notification flashed. The binder had finished compiling the genetic information and revealed a new skill.

  You've learned: [Pinch Point].

  His pulse quickened as he pulled up the details.

  Pinch Point (Common)

  You’ve learned to identify weaknesses in enemies.

  Effects:

  Activate to reveal a weakness for 5 seconds. Attack it to deal 150% damage.

  Energy: 15

  Cool down: 5 minutes

  A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Now this was a good skill.

  Unlike passive buffs, this one was interactive. It rewarded precision, timing, and a well-placed strike. If he used it right, he could squeeze out massive damage.

  He just hoped the weak point wasn’t something tiny.

  The image formed in his mind—a fast-moving enemy, its vulnerable spot no bigger than a pebble, darting around just out of reach. A nightmare for anyone without impeccable aim. Hopefully, the weak spot’s at least bigger than an eyeball.

  Still, it was a massive step up from [Dumpster Disguise].

  His thoughts drifted to his next challenge: the turtles.

  He’d already stirred up enough of a scene with the stunt he’d just pulled. Charging straight into Shell Bay now would be reckless. Letting things settle first? That was the smart play.

  Besides, it had been a few days since he last checked in with his mother and Uncle Arnold.

  Arnold had probably run through his groceries by now. And his mother… well, it was just time. No real reason. Just a feeling.

  His gaze shifted toward the cliffs.

  Once he logged back in, he’d tackle the next set with fresh focus. For now, he’d just log out.

  *

  Deckard logged back into the game. He climbed over the cliff and then back down on the other side.

  He had arrived at Shell Bay during a rare moment of quiet. No wild bosses. No elites. Just the lull of the ocean and the distant cries of seabirds. But the peace wouldn’t last. The moment something spawned, the bay would turn into a battleground.

  For now, he would take what little calm he could get.

  He walked toward the ocean and, for a moment, just sat near the surf.

  The sand was cool beneath his hands, damp from the tide. Foam fizzled at the edges of the waves, reaching forward before retreating. He closed his eyes, listening to the rhythmic crash of water against the shore. Slow. Steady. It should have been soothing, but the unease gnawed at him all the same. He wasn’t really hearing the ocean anymore. Instead, another sound lingered in his mind—her voice, unsteady, confused.

  Whenever he visited his mother and she didn’t recognize him, it hurt. But it was worse—so much worse—when she acted like she had today. In those fleeting moments of clarity, when she remembered she was sick, when she realized he was the one who had institutionalized her… that was what truly broke him. The confusion. The fear. The pain.

  A knot tightened in his chest. He weighed the options in his mind, just like he had done countless times before. The costs, the logistics, the strain. If he had her move in with him, hire a nurse… Maybe if he tried a little harder.

  He shook his head.

  That won’t work, Deckard. You’ve tried it.

  And that had been when she was better. She hadn’t let him work. The constant supervision, the erratic mood swings, the late-night breakdowns—it had nearly burned him out.

  He needed the distance. And the support the home provided. It was the only way he could keep working and providing for her.

  But the guilt refused to let up. He opened his eyes, exhaling slowly, watching the water pull away from his feet.

  Shake it off. Keep working.

  He exhaled slowly, then pushed the thoughts away and focused on the game.

  He had spent hours observing the beach and studying the Crab Amphibian, but turtles were a different challenge. They stuck to deeper waters, and all he had to go on were videos. That wasn’t enough.

  I guess it’s time to run some recon.

  The first step was simple—he headed straight for the water.

  The ocean wrapped around him in a familiar embrace, the shift from air to water sending a cool shiver through his body. Pressure settled against his ears as he dove deeper, the distant hum of the currents replacing the cries of seabirds above.

  The underwater junkyard had been chaotic, a mess of broken structures and scavengers picking at the remains. Shell Bay, in comparison, was clean. Sunlight pierced through the water in shimmering beams, casting shifting patterns across the sand. Coral swayed in the currents, their colors vibrant against the pale seafloor.

  But not everything was pristine. Stray bits of trash lingered—scraps of rope tangled in coral, plastic bottles wedged between the rocks.

  Then, he spotted something larger.

  Half-buried in the sand lay a sunken raft. He drifted closer, brushing his fingers over the warped wood. Barnacles clung to the edges, and faded markings lined one of the planks—perhaps a guild insignia or the remnants of a player’s name.

  Whether it had once belonged to players or was just another prop placed by the designers, he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was the developers’ way of reminding players that getting the wild boss’s drops meant fighting a naval battle—and failing a few times in the process. Whatever its story, it had long since been claimed by the sea.

  He swam deeper, scanning the seabed. Starfish. Shellfish. Familiar creatures.

  A shadow passed over him, dimming the light. He tilted his head upward, expecting to see a cloud drifting across the sun.

  But it wasn’t a cloud. It was a turtle.

  Unlike the scavengers of the junkyard, these turtles were sleek. Their shells were smooth, their marble-like patterns catching the filtered sunlight as they glided through the water. Every movement was graceful, effortless.

  Deckard swam up, keeping his distance. The turtle didn’t react to him.

  He moved farther, scanning the open water. Another turtle appeared in the distance, then another. Soon, they were everywhere—drifting through the currents, gliding past patches of coral. At first, they seemed undisturbed, but then he caught sight of a figure slicing through the water.

  A player.

  Then another.

  And another.

  The deeper he went, the busier it became. The water, once a quiet stretch of open blue, now swarmed with movement. Players weaved between clusters of turtles, weapons flashing in the filtered light. Attacks rippled through the currents as battles played out all around him.

  One fighter twisted mid-water, dodging a lunging turtle with a swift kick, using the momentum to flip backward before delivering a precise strike. The impact sent a ripple through the water, but the turtle barely flinched. Instead, it tucked into its shell, and a sudden pulse shot outward—an invisible force, bending the currents.

  A telekinetic attack.

  The player darted sideways, narrowly avoiding the blast before countering with another strike.

  Nearby, three players were engaged in a battle against two turtles. The creatures fought back with synchronized pulses, sending waves through the water, but what caught Deckard’s attention was how the players responded. Not just by dodging, but by retaliating with telekinetic skills of their own.

  They must have farmed those abilities here.

  Even underwater, the difference in skill was clear. The three worked together seamlessly, countering each pulse with their own, turning the current into their battleground. When the last turtle’s shell shattered into motes of light, Deckard swallowed hard.

  He had spent countless hours fighting the trash-eating turtles in the junkyard, but his underwater combat skills weren’t on this level. It wasn’t just their speed or their techniques—some of these players had better gear. Flippers for extra mobility, snorkels for better air control, even high-end oxygen tanks that made his battered one look like scrap.

  From atop the market boulder on the beach, he had seen plenty of movement—players coming and going, the occasional flashes of battle. But he hadn’t imagined that beneath the surface, an entire hunt was unfolding.

  Watching them, the unease grew.

  The competition will be even fiercer than I thought!

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