HC: Card Slinger | Ch. 52 - Amphibian Crab

Shell Bay never rested. Even with the Turtle Mother long dead—its body gone, its loot claimed—the beach still buzzed with restless energy. The air hung thick with salt and sweat.

Up on Market Boulder, players haggled over loot and swapped rumors. Deals were struck, threats exchanged, and fresh kills appraised.

Down at the beach, metal clashed, and skills crackled as players fought off the crabs that scuttled across the dry sand.

Closer to the water, players scavenged driftwood, hauled logs from the jungle, and lashed them into makeshift rafts, their eyes darting toward the sea.

Near the shore, five players busied themselves with ropes and wood, supposedly building a raft. Kruger, a lanky man with sunburnt arms, pulled a rope tight, pretending to secure a log—but his fingers twitched with impatience. Vance, shorter but broad-shouldered, leaned over as if tying a knot, but his hands barely moved.

Other players weren’t wasting time with decoys. Some were already knee-deep in the surf, their weapons held high as they waited.

“Should we…?” Kruger muttered, shifting his weight.

“Not yet,” Vance said, voice steady.

The group kept pretending to work as more players gathered near the water.

A pulse of green light rippled beneath the waves. For a breath, the water stilled—then it burst into motion. Foam frothed, bubbles surged, and with a sudden lurch, the Amphibian Crab emerged. Its shell gleamed like polished jade, legs fanning in a wide stance. It looked like an oversized hockey puck, but its claws snapped with lethal precision.

Shouts erupted. The first wave of players sprinted through the surf, slowed by the tide but driven by greed. Weapons slashed, and telekinetic rocks flew, colliding with the crab. It fended them off, slashing with its claws before vanishing in a blur.

A heartbeat later, it reappeared farther out, its emerald shell flashing under the sun. The players cursed, splashing forward, struggling against the water’s resistance.

“Should we go?” Kruger asked again.

“Not yet. Wait. We move when the time is right,” Vance whispered.

The crab skittered across the battlefield, forcing players to fight waist-deep in water. It wasn’t too different from the Burrowing Crab—except here, everyone was slower. Harder to keep up. And unlike the Burrowing Crab, which surfaced where trash piles were highest, this one could reappear anywhere.

Then, the Amphibian Crab surfaced just a short distance from Vance’s group.

Vance’s smirk widened. “Now—move!”

The five players sprang forward.

Throw Rocks!

Pebbles levitated, picked by invisible hands and shot toward the crab.

-6

-5

-8

"Pin it down! We take the drop!"

Seagull Strike!

-13

Miss!

Vance’s sword shone blue as he lunged, driving his blade into the crab’s shell. A crack split along the surface. Another player followed up.

Shield Bash!

Miss!

The Amphibian Crab lurched sideways instead of forward, moving in a way that made attacks miss by inches. Then, in an instant, it flipped onto its back, using the sudden momentum to launch a claw strike.

-23

One of the players who’d been in the water first splashed forward, his ragged bandana barely holding back his tangled curls. “Get out of here! We’ve been fighting it first!”

“Keep fighting,” Vance ordered, barely sparing them a glance. A smirk tugged at his lips as he turned toward the others, his laugh carrying over the chaos. He adjusted his sleeves, rolling them up just enough to reveal the Low Lives guild emblem tattooed on his arm—a silver skull with a dagger through it.

“This crab belongs to the Low Lives,” he declared, voice steady. His gaze swept over the scattered players. “Step in, and you’re an enemy of the guild.”

A ripple passed through the crowd. Some hesitated, exchanging wary glances.

Vance could feel their fear. Good. The Low Lives made examples of those who dared challenge them, and it seemed their reputation had spread here as well.

But not everyone backed down. Some players tightened their grips on rusted weapons, eyes hard with defiance.

“What gives you the right?! We took most of its health!” a staff-wielding player shouted from behind, emboldened by the bodies between her and the Low Lives.

Vance exhaled, amused. “Our guild is very large, and we need the drops. Be smart. Walk away.” His grin widened. “Or, if you’d rather, we can sweep the floor with the lot of you.”

The tension snapped.

“Truce! You really gonna let these guild rats walk off with our loot?”

The ragtag group of scavengers, loners, and opportunists stiffened. Then, an unspoken agreement passed between them.

The dam broke.

A surge of players charged forward—not allies, but suddenly united by a common purpose.

“Don’t let them get it!” Vance yelled. “Bruce, help me out here!”

Vance and another Low Lives member tried to hold their ground, but there were too many. Their formation collapsed, and chaos followed.

Blades flashed, skills fired in every direction—some struck the crab, some hit players, and some just tore through the surf.

Pincer Strike!

-12

One of the Low Lives landed a scythe-like attack that slashed across the Amphibian Crab’s flank. Its health bar plummeted into the red zone.

The crab submerged.

For a moment, both sides froze. All eyes locked on the waves, waiting.

The crab was nearly dead. The next few strikes would determine who got the loot. These next moments were critical.

Then—the Amphibian Crab appeared a short distance away.

“Quick! It’s almost dead! Get to it! Get to it!”

Everyone charged, activating movement skills, tearing through the surf—

A burst of light flickered beneath the waves—then, in an instant, the crab was gone.

For a second, the battlefield froze. Water lapped at stunned players’ legs.

“Did it submerge again?”

“Captain Vance? Where did it go?”

“Keep running! Maybe someone landed a long-range skill and finished it off. We need to get its loot!”

Vance kept moving, trying to make sense of what had happened.

There was a light. That meant someone had just used a skill. Moreover, no one had attacked the Amphibian Crab after it surfaced. It only moved around the battlefield after taking damage.

Something didn’t add up.

Then, a shadow flickered beneath the water.

Vance’s stomach twisted.

“There’s a player over there! It must have been who hit last!” His furious shout shattered the silence.

Instantly, the chaotic battlefield, moments ago a free-for-all, turned into a singular, focused hunt. Seconds ago, they were at each other’s throats. Now, they were united by fury. The thief had stolen the kill right out from under their noses, and he would pay for it.

“Boss! There’s loot here!”

Vance gritted his teeth. Idiot. Now everyone knew.

For a second, no one moved. Some twitched toward the water, torn between revenge and greed. Then—instinct took over. XP could be farmed later. The loot was now.

The moment of hesitation shattered.

Skills exploded in every direction. Sand sprayed, water churned, and bodies slammed into each other as everyone clawed for whatever they could grab. Someone grabbed a scrap of gear—only to have it torn from their hands a second later. A player went down under a flurry of kicks, another stabbed blindly at the surf in case something valuable had sunk.

Seagull Strike!

Throw Rocks!

Shield Bash!

Vance clenched his jaw. “I’ll follow that player. Everyone else, get that gear!”

The Low Lives used their numbers and coordination to push back the scattered free agents. The illusion of a temporary alliance among the solo players had already collapsed, shattered by greed. The fight was no longer about principles—it was about who could take the most loot.

But unlike the rest, the Low Lives had one advantage: they worked as a team.

Meanwhile, Vance tore after the mysterious thief, sword in hand.

You’ll regret this, thief. No one crosses the Low Lives and walks away.

The thief must have realized he was being chased because he finally broke through the water, sprinting toward the shore.

Vance studied his gear. Nothing impressive. A pair of spectacles, some mismatched crab and seagull armor, and—an oxygen tank.

So that was his trick. He’d been waiting all along, lurking beneath the waves while the rest of them brawled like idiots.

"Hey, you! Stop in the name of the Low Lives!"

The player glanced back but didn’t slow. Instead, he ran straight toward the cliffs.

Vance frowned. "Wait! Stop! There’s no point in running! There’s no way out."

He kept chasing, confident that the thief had backed himself into a corner. When the player finally reached the rock face, Vance grinned, slowing his pace.

Nowhere left to go.

The thief, however, never slowed down.

A flash of white.

Then—he jumped.

Vance’s eyes widened. White light flared at the thief’s feet, and then—he soared.

Vance’s stomach dropped. "No way. Those are the Sea Wind Boots!"

That was a rare drop from Gull’s Rock! Vance and his team had farmed the dungeon several times and had only ever gotten one pair. Unfortunately, it had gone to the guild leader.

The thief kept jumping, bounding up the cliffside with impossible ease. Within moments, he was at the top. Vance skidded to a stop, fists clenched as he stared up at the ledge where the thief had paused to look back.

"The Low Lives will get back at you someday!" Vance shouted.

The player didn’t answer. He just turned and ran.

Vance exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. Whoever that was, they had planned this from the start, and they had gotten away clean.

For a moment, he stood there, unsure of what to do. Should he try to give chase? It wasn’t just that he’d stolen the kill. That player had an oxygen tank and the Sea Wind Boots. Both were rare items.

If he could PK him, he might get at least one.

“Boss!”

The shouts of his colleagues as they fought the other players won out in the end. He gave one last look at the cliff where the thief had just stood.

"I won’t forget you, thief. Next time, I take more than just your loot."

Vance finally ran to help his colleagues.

*

Deckard finally stopped running. He looked back. That player hadn’t chased him.

That was close. They're actually catching on.

The first time he’d stolen an elite kill, players had just assumed he was a veteran and backed off. On Trash Islet, he hadn’t even needed to run—just buried himself under garbage and let the chaos pass. This time, though, they’d actually pinpointed where he was. One of them had even chased him.

It was a good thing I had an escape plan.

He flopped onto the sand, breath still uneven. Only then did he pull up the card, his fingers still damp.

“Interesting.”

It was a card that capitalized on the effects of other cards in the crab mini-set, such as [Spider Crab], which could move between lanes once per game, or [Retreating Step], which moved all crabs to his defending lane. This card would be a decent finisher if he built a whole deck around moving crabs between lanes.

However, that wasn’t what he was really interested in. He wanted to complete the set and trigger his next skill.

He glanced at the distant tree line, eyes narrowing. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the uneasy prickling at his neck told him otherwise—something was watching from the trees. His gut twisted.

Better safe than sorry. He waded deeper into the water, the cool waves settling his nerves. At least if something came charging out of the jungle, he had an escape route.

Finally, he took out the repository and let it absorb the [Amphibian Crab].

He took a deep breath, heart pounding. This was the fifth mini-set. The repository glowed as it absorbed the [Amphibian Crab], the entire crab collection shimmering like waves under moonlight. Deckard waited expectantly, eyes locked on the blue page as it began to shine brilliantly. The glow didn’t fade. Instead, the repository let out a low hum, vibrating in his hands.

Come on… give me something good.

Ch. 51 - Dumpster Disguise

INDEX

Ch. 53 - Landmark