HC: Card Slinger | Ch. 47 - Deep Dive

Meanwhile, in the real world, Deckard prepared to return to the game.

“Alright then.”

He spoke aloud, maybe to fill the silence—maybe to convince himself that the emptiness of his apartment didn’t bother him.

It wasn’t that it was small or cramped. If anything, it was too open, too lifeless—just a sleek capsule, a trophy cabinet, a bare desk, and the faint hum of climate control keeping everything at a perfectly optimized temperature. No distractions. No clutter. Designed for efficiency.

And yet, compared to the expansive worlds of full-dive gaming, it felt sterile.

Shaking the thought away, he checked the capsule’s status panel. All systems normal. The nutrient fluid meter was still high, its indicator pulsing a cool blue.

Nexus Co. had stocked him up well—this capsule could sustain him for a month straight without a single logout. A seamless, uninterrupted dive into AstroTerra for those who wanted a hardcore diving experience.

But Deckard wasn’t that kind of player.

Sure, some pros never logged out, relying entirely on artificial sustenance and induced REM cycles to maximize their in-game efficiency.

It was tempting. The idea of grinding nonstop, pushing every possible advantage. 

But in the long run? He knew better. Even though humanity had perfected synthetic nutrition and artificial sleep, the counterfeits weren’t perfect. And Deckard wasn’t willing to let his mind become dull just to squeeze out a little more playtime.

His brain was his most valuable asset. If he wanted to stay sharp, he had to treat it right.

So, he logged out for meals. He logged out for naps. He’d been playing throughout the nights, but he was going to take some time to do some real sleeping tonight.

They were all simple habits, but Deckard believed they would make all the difference in the long run.

Sliding into the capsule, Deckard settled into position. The moment his back hit the cushioned interior, a gentle hiss filled the pod as the system synced with his neural signature.

The world around him faded to black.

The familiar weightlessness of full immersion washed over him as AstroTerra pulled him back into its depths.

He reappeared on the shore of Trash Islet, where the sun hung low, streaking gold across the waves. Brine filled his lungs, and the rhythmic crash of the tide welcomed him back.

His [Oxygen-Dented Tank] remained strapped to his back, its indicator flashing as it continued recharging—even while he’d been offline.

Good. No wasted time.

“Let’s grab a few more starfish and clams,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders as he scanned the shoreline.

Spotting an open patch of water, free from drifting debris, Deckard took a steady breath and dove in.

The world above blurred into a rippling haze, swallowed by the underwater junkyard stretching before him. Sunlight filtered through the depths in fractured beams, glinting off rusted metal and tangled seaweed.

With measured kicks, he descended, eyes sweeping the seabed for his first target.

There.

A blue starfish clung to a chunk of coral-encrusted metal, its color too vivid to miss.

Deckard smirked. He’d interacted with this one before—enough that capturing it now would be easy. Drawing an empty card, he took aim.

Subdimensionalize!

A pulse of blue light enveloped the starfish, and a familiar notification flickered into view.

Capture Successful.

Deckard exhaled through his nose, watching bubbles spiral upward. Given how hard it was to reach this spot, he’d expected the creatures here to be more valuable than those in the shallows.

Wishful thinking.

Still, a card was a card. He pocketed it and kept moving.

His next target was a giant clam, half-buried in the sand. Unlike turtles or starfish, clams barely moved—slow, patient creatures, filtering water and snapping shut only when disturbed. Deckard hovered in place, watching. No need to rush.

For ten minutes, he observed, letting his understanding tick up. Twice, a notification confirmed his progress. 

Almost there.

Then, a warning flashed across his HUD.

Oxygen Level Critical!

His gaze flicked to the red indicator. Less than thirty seconds before his tank ran dry. He sighed. 

Might as well try.

Raising an empty card, he aimed at the clam.

Subdimensionalize!

A soft glow enveloped the creature—

Capture Failed.

Of course. It had been worth a shot. Without hesitating, Deckard kicked off the seabed and shot toward the surface.

He broke through with seconds to spare, gulping in fresh air as the waves rolled beneath him. No giant clam this time, but at least he’d secured another starfish. Progress was progress.

At this rate, he’d complete the set in no time. That is, if he decided to finish it.

He pulled himself up, water streaming off his gear as he took a moment to think. He couldn’t keep ignoring the elephant in the room.

I need to figure this out. Do I keep completing sets?

Every milestone in his collection triggered increasingly difficult challenges. If he stopped short—always leaving one card unclaimed—maybe he could avoid activating something he wasn’t ready to face.

His gaze drifted toward the island, to the thin green line where the jungle loomed beyond the shore. What was waiting for him there? He imagined stepping into the undergrowth, only to be ambushed by some ruthless NPC, his entire collection ripped from his grasp.

No. I can’t give fear full rein.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became—holding back out of fear was a losing mindset.

Every duel against Ratu had forced him to fight with a worse deck, yet he’d still won. He had no reason to believe the next challenge would be any different. If he kept refining his strategy, kept playing the way he knew best, he could handle whatever came next.

And it wasn’t just about persistence. His progress wasn’t luck. He was adapting, learning the game in ways most players at his level couldn’t. Others saw the mechanics at face value, but he was seeing the patterns, the depth, the possibilities.

Maybe that was what really unsettled him.

Savant’s words still lingered, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

“I don’t think you’ll do well in the game. It’s not just about cards.”

Blunt. Dismissive. Typical Savant. But coming from a player Deckard had respected? It carried weight. A weight that, whether he liked it or not, had been dragging him down.

But hadn’t he already proven himself?

He’d unlocked a hidden class. He was uncovering mechanics others had overlooked. He was thriving despite every obstacle thrown his way.

He exhaled, shaking off the hesitation that clung to him.

Have a little more confidence in yourself, Deckard.

Whatever waited in that jungle, he’d deal with it. And as for Savant? He’d beat him too.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself.

That’s it, then. It’s decided. The only way is forward.

The moment he committed, something shifted. His doubt faded, replaced by a steady certainty. He wasn’t just surviving in this game—he was playing to win.

With his decision made, Deckard shifted his focus to planning. If he was going to complete full sets, he needed to be smart about the order.

Just because he had committed didn’t mean he’d charge into the jungle unprepared. No—he would collect every card, unlock every skill, and secure the best gear he could get his hands on. Only then would he step into enemy territory.

As far as he knew, three sets remained: the Junkyard, Crabs, and Turtles.

He was already working on the first, and for the second, he was just one crab elite short. But the real problem was the third—the Turtle set. The problem with the last one was the wild boss.

The competition over the wild boss is just too fierce.

Elites were one thing—dealing with other players fighting over them was already a headache. But a wild boss? That was on another level. He’d seen the fights at Shell Bay. Dozens of players, rafts packed along the shore, all of them gunning for the same target.

If he wanted to capture the first wild boss on the island, he had to figure out how to do it before someone else beat him to it.

And once he completed the Turtle set, there’d be nothing left to grind along the beaches. No more delays. No more putting it off. That meant facing the inevitable—venturing into the jungle and whatever waited inside.

Maybe it was poetic justice. If I can handle the wild boss, I can handle what’s next. A stepping stone. Proof that he was ready.

Still, the Turtle wild boss was too contested. The moment it spawned, rafts would clog the waters, and players would swarm in from every direction. Pulling a stunt like what he did on Trash Islet won’t work here.

I need more options.

Deckard frowned, considering his next move. 

Maybe I should use these breaks to improve my underwater combat. 

If he wanted to steal the wild boss out from under the competition, fighting in the water might be his best advantage.

He reached behind him and unequipped his [Oxygen-Dented Tank], leaving it in his inventory. Without it, he’d be relying on his digital lungs, which only gave him about a minute of underwater time. Nowhere near enough to make it down to the junkyard and capture cards—but just enough to run some experiments.

With a deep breath, he dove in and grabbed his deck from his inventory, his fingers brushing against the familiar weight of the cards. 

Time to see how these babies fly underwater.

Rolling his shoulder, he lined up his first throw and put his full strength into it.

The card left his hand—

And sank like a rock.

Wait. What?

Deckard blinked as the card plummeted, vanishing into the depths without even a hint of forward motion. He hovered in place, staring at the spot where it had disappeared, half-expecting it to suddenly right itself and dart forward. But no. It just… sank.

He couldn’t help but glance around, scanning the quiet shoreline just to be sure no one had seen that embarrassing display. He’d chosen this particular spot for a reason—it was one of the islet’s more secluded shores, facing away from Beginner Island. But still, someone could be lurking, exploring the area. Thankfully, there were no spectators.

Good. Because that? Just now? That was pathetic.

But Deckard wasn’t about to let himself be defeated by bad physics. Maybe I just need more power behind the throw. Activating his skill, he braced himself.

Power Throw!

Energy surged through him, his card flaring brilliantly as he released it. This time, instead of sinking like a rock, it fluttered uselessly and then sank. Deckard stared. 

Like a leaf. A glowing, ridiculous leaf.

He broke through the surface with an exasperated exhale.

Great. So much for ranged combat.

If underwater fighting was going to be this useless, what was the point? If he needed to do any fighting while capturing the wild turtle boss, he’d be completely helpless.

Maybe I need to rethink this whole approach. What can my cards even do in this situation? 

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like combat wasn’t the answer at all. 

Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about fighting. Maybe it’s going to be more of a hit-and-run thing.

After a moment, he hauled himself back onto the shore, dripping wet, lost in thought. He absentmindedly flicked a couple of cards into the ocean, watching them sail through the air before losing momentum and dropping into the water.

At least they work in the air.

Vindicated, he pulled up his web browser.

He typed in Turtle Mother, and a flood of results filled the screen. Some were tutorials on raft-building, others were strategy guides for tackling the boss. Adjusting his spectacles, he picked one at random and started watching.

Fifty-five minutes left until his oxygen tank was fully charged. Plenty of time.

Ch. 46 - Diving

INDEX

Ch. 48 - Turtle Power