HC: Card Slinger | Ch. 46 - Diving

Deckard stood waist-deep in the surf, a short distance from Stiltwave Village. The waves lapped at his sides, cool and rhythmic, as he adjusted the oxygen tank strapped to his back. The sensation was foreign. Even though he had scoured these shallows before, hunting for starfish and swimming all the way from Stiltwave to Trash Islet, something about carrying the tank changed the experience. It made him feel less like a casual explorer and more like a true diver—like he was about to step into an alien world.

He waded deeper until the sand beneath his feet gave way to open water. When the sea finally lifted him, he let himself drift for a moment, gazing down at the shifting blues below. Taking one last breath of fresh air, he ensured the tank was properly equipped, then dove.

The water swallowed him whole.

Deckard kicked downward. The light from the surface faded as he descended several meters, his surroundings shifting from a vibrant aquamarine to the deeper blues of the ocean floor. He had expected to find something resembling the shallows—only richer, denser, perhaps even teeming with undiscovered life. 

I thought that this would be a way to grow stronger without risking trudging through the jungle. But I guess that was wishful thinking.

Instead of a thriving seabed, the landscape stretched out before him like an underwater wasteland. The only thing other than sand was the odd rock or a piece of trash that the surf hadn’t carried to the beach for the seagulls to eat. Nothing about this place screamed abundance. If anything, it reminded him of a desert.

He glanced at the corner of his vision, noting the progress bar displaying his oxygen reserves—fourteen minutes remaining.

He propelled himself forward, scanning the terrain as he moved. A flicker of motion in the sand caught his eye. His pulse quickened as he swam toward it, hoping for something rare, something new. But as he got closer, he recognized it immediately—a granulated starfish. He sighed. He already had it in his collection.

After circling the area for several minutes and finding nothing of value, he surfaced. He still had five minutes left on the oxygen gauge.

Maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way. Maybe this oxygen tank isn’t meant for deep-sea exploration. Maybe it’s just a tool to help with the turtles in Shell Bay.

It made sense. After one worked their way up the seagulls and crabs, the next logical step was to deal with the turtles. And, as far as he could tell, they were all in the water. Maybe he should just move to the waters of Shell Bay and start exploring there. That seemed like the next logical step.

He started swimming back toward Beginner Island, letting the gentle waves guide him. As he reached the shore, he hesitated.

Wait a minute…

He frowned, recalling how he’d obtained the oxygen tank. It had been a reward for eliminating the elites of Trash Islet. Afterward, he’d been tasked with collecting 200 pieces of trash from the same location. What if the oxygen tank was meant to be used around the islet, too?

He stood there, letting the thought settle. The deeper waters close to the beach of Beginner Island had turned up nothing, but the waters near Trash Islet might. The more he considered it, the more it made sense.

He already knew for a fact that the waters of Shell Bay would have turtles. But the possibility of there being a location that wasn’t so obvious with more creatures to capture excited him.

Determined, he waited for his stamina bar to refill. As soon as it was full, he kicked off into the waves, aiming for Trash Islet.

Thankfully, this time, Ratu didn’t stop him for a Terralore match, and he made it across without any interruptions.

Climbing onto the jagged rocks of the islet, he took a moment to catch his breath. His stamina bar replenished steadily. The oxygen tank had refilled slightly, too—now holding at six minutes.

Once ready, he took the plunge.

Where Beginner Island sloped gently into the sea, Trash Islet was a sheer drop. Below the surface, the ground simply vanished, a rocky ledge plunging into a dark abyss. Without the oxygen tank, he wouldn’t have even considered diving here.

As he descended, the ocean floor appeared, revealing a landscape cluttered with debris—glass and metal scraps scattered across the seabed. The vastness of this underwater junkyard dwarfed that of the Trash Islet. 

This is the real junkyard. Only small amounts of trash ever get carried onto the islet. Most of it piles up down here.

As Deckard swam over the junkyard, he saw how time fought to claim the garbage and turn it back into metal, fusing metal with coral, glass with barnacles, and wood with creeping algae. Rust coated the skeletal remains of old ship parts, and the occasional net swayed with the currents, tangled in seaweed. 

Then—movement.

A pop of color caught his eye between a sunken wooden crate and a corroded pipe. Deckard kicked forward, scanning the area. Slowly, something shifted amidst the rubble, a lazy stretch of limbs emerging from beneath a metal panel. It was a starfish.

It was a stunning shade of blue, almost glowing against the muted backdrop of rust and sand. Its five arms, tapering into delicate points, rippled slightly as it inched across a barnacle-encrusted plank.

You’ve observed a blue linckia starfish.

Your understanding of it grows.

Yes! There are new creatures here! 

If there was one new species, there had to be more. His gaze darted across the reef of wreckage, searching for other signs of life.

Near a collapsed fishing cage, he spotted a large shell wedged between two corroded beams. At first, it seemed like nothing more than a discarded husk, but then it shifted—just slightly. It wasn’t empty.

The shell was massive, nearly the size of his head, with thick ridges running along its surface. A closer look revealed a faint ripple in the water as it opened just a fraction, revealing the soft, pale interior before snapping shut.

You’ve observed a giant clam.

Your understanding of it grows.

Once he started spotting new life forms, he just couldn’t stop finding them. A few feet away, nestled in a crevice formed by overlapping wooden beams, smaller clams peeked out from their hiding spots. Their shells were smooth and oval-shaped, a blend of beige and white, half-buried in the sand. A little to the left, he spotted another starfish clinging to a broken beam, its impossibly thin arms stretching out like stringy strands of spaghetti.

A little ahead, a thick cloud of sand billowed upward, swirling in the water like an upside-down storm. Curious, Deckard swam toward it. As he swam closer, he noticed a shifting trail of sediment in its wake. This wasn’t just another tiny creature scuttling through the wreckage—this was something bigger.

What’s stirring up all this sand?

He kicked forward, cautious but eager, peering through the drifting sediment to find the source.

And then he saw it.

A massive turtle, its shell a patchwork of dark moss and encrusted barnacles, methodically foraging through the sand. Its powerful, curved beak snapped at the ocean floor, tearing through the debris with methodical efficiency. Whatever it was looking for, it knew exactly where to find it. 

Unlike the other creatures, which darted in and out of the wreckage, the turtle owned this space. It barely acknowledged the twisted metal and rotting wood around it, patiently working through the trash. With each bite, its beak shattered debris into smaller pieces, speeding up nature’s slow work of reclaiming the wreckage.

You’ve observed a trash-crushing turtle.

Your understanding of it grows.

He glanced around him and found other distant sand clouds, marking the activity of other turtles.

Aha! I knew it! It’s another ecosystem!

Turns out, the real purpose of the oxygen bottle at this stage of the game wasn’t just to help players explore more of the deeper waters closer to the beach or even to tackle the first wild boss of the island. It was to enable players to come here, to the waters of Trash Islet.

Well… I better get to work. 

Just being down here and taking in the sights was eating up precious oxygen time. He started by focusing on the turtle.

You’ve watched how the trash-crushing turtle feeds.

Your understanding of it grows.

He kept observing it, watching its movements, and logging its behavior. By the time he triggered the third notification, a flashing message appeared at the top of his screen:

You’ve run out of breath. Return to the surface, or you will die.

Deckard winced. He was on the clock.

Kicking off from the ocean floor, he shot upward, his lungs tightening as his vision flickered red. HP ticked down in sharp increments. He pushed harder, ignoring the burn in his legs. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he burst through the surface, gasping for air.

As he steadied himself, he realized he had drifted farther from the islet than expected. He swam back through the debris until he reached a crag and hauled himself onto it, exhaling sharply.

Now that he was out of danger, he reviewed everything he had seen below.

There were many creatures down there. It took roughly a minute just to dive in and come back out. The six minutes he’d spent down there went by in a flash. 

It would take at least an hour before the oxygen tank refilled enough for another 15-minute dive. And even then, he would have to repeat the process multiple times before cataloging every creature in this ecosystem. He was going to spend the next day, maybe even days here.

Fifteen minutes underwater had sounded like a long time when he first got this item. But now that he had witnessed the sheer variety of creatures down there, it felt like nothing.

He sighed. Just when I thought I was done working on my patience…

With no choice but to wait, Deckard sat down and watched the ocean.

*

Ratu leaped from the boat, landing on the river shore with a grunt. He groaned as he shoved the boat further up the sandbank, ensuring the tide wouldn’t reclaim it. Programming dictated he secure it, so he looped a rope around a nearby tree and gave it a firm tug.

Clearing his throat, he stepped into the jungle. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of damp earth clinging to his skin. It didn’t take long to reach his destination—the Deadman’s Tree. Even in this dense jungle, it was impossible to miss. Its skeletal branches twisted toward the sky, devoid of leaves, the only dead thing in a sea of vibrant green.

“I come see Redbeard the Ruthless!” Ratu called out.

Bird calls erupted in response, sharp and scattered, echoing through the jungle canopy. Then, silence. A heavy, unnatural stillness, as if the entire jungle was holding its breath.

Then—

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The ground shuddered with each impact. Trees groaned, their trunks snapping like brittle twigs as something massive approached. Ratu swallowed hard. His hands clenched into fists to stop them from trembling.

Just as it seemed the monstrous presence would burst through the foliage, the footsteps stopped. Instead, a rustling came from the right. A shadow moved between the trees. And then Redbeard’s puppet stepped into view.

The man was broad-shouldered, his skin just as sunbaked as Ratu’s. An islander. One he knew all too well. A netmender with a gambling problem—another fool who had fallen into Redbeard the Ruthless’ grasp.

“Ratu.” The man’s voice was flat, resigned. “You come pay?”

Ratu licked his lips. “I—I bring back Redbeard the Ruthless’ cards.”

He stretched out his hand, offering up what little he had. The puppet took the cards, turning away without another word.

A deep, guttural roar shook the jungle. Leaves fluttered to the ground. The puppet froze, then bolted into the trees as if summoned.

Ratu stood there, heart hammering. The jungle held its breath again. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the puppet returned, his face even paler than before.

“Where epic card?” he demanded. “Where two rares? And you promise three new ones! What game you play?”

“I—I sorry!” Ratu whined. “Foreigner! Outsider! He got too many good cards! He take them! I—I lose! Nothing I can do! But—maybe if I get better cards—”

The roar returned, this time with words.

“ENOUGH.”

The sheer weight of the voice made the jungle tremble. The puppet winced, hesitated—then turned and sprinted into the trees once more.

Silence. Then another distant, guttural rumble.

When the puppet emerged again, his expression had changed. This time, there was something cold behind his eyes.

“The foreigner,” he said, voice low and final. “He not your problem no more. Redbeard the Ruthless deal with him himself.”

Ratu barely had time to process the words before the puppet took a step forward.

“You lucky, Ratu,” he continued. “Our master… he want new pet. He think you just fine.”

Ratu’s breath caught. His heart pounded against his ribs. He stumbled back, his voice breaking into a panicked wail.

“No! Please don’t! Nooo—!”

The jungle swallowed his cries.

Ch. 45 - Reward

INDEX

Ch. 47 - Deep Dive