HC: Card Slinger | Ch. 34 - Same Dungeon. Different Man.

Deckard adjusted his glasses and stepped forward cautiously, the crunch of loose gravel beneath his boots the only sound besides the distant waves. The faint tang of salt in the air tickled his senses, grounding him in the moment.

He felt the power of the [Lone Wolf] title coursing through him:

Passive. +5 attack, +5% damage resistance, +5% status resistance when running dungeons.

Bonus doubles when running a dungeon alone.

Rounding the first bend, his eyes locked onto a trio of Diseased Seagulls. Their eyes gleamed with feral intensity, their movements sharp and restless as they patrolled the path. They were ready to pounce on any intruder.

Deckard remained calm. He knew their patterns well—their speed, their aggressive lunges, their relentless persistence. He’d faced them one-on-one countless times before. But this would be his first fight against a full pack.

He paused to size them up. Each Diseased Seagull had 100 HP. Meanwhile, his cards dealt 13 damage each—26 on a critical hit. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. This will be fun.

Still, Deckard didn’t let his confidence morph into recklessness. The dungeon’s open layout made his usual strategies from the Molting Grotto useless. Back there, he could retreat to tight crevices to recover. Here, there was no cover. No hiding from the Diseased Seagulls.

He shuffled his deck, feeling the subtle weight of the extra card added by [Repository Recharge]. The difference was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

Four Aces!

Four cards in his deck were prepped for critical hits.

“Very well,” he murmured under his breath, his resolve steady. “I think I’m ready.”

With a burst of speed, Deckard launched himself toward the flock. His opening throw—one he had practiced over fifty times—felt fluid now, his body moving like a well-oiled machine. Every adjustment to his wrist, elbow, shoulder, and even his hips and knees added precision to the throw.

The first card sliced through the air, a blur of motion that struck the nearest seagull square in the chest.

-26!

The seagull screeched, wings flailing as the impact sent it careening backward. Deckard’s eyes widened. “Such damage!” he exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement.

The other two seagulls froze momentarily, their heads tilting in confused, almost comical disbelief.

Deckard didn’t waste the opening. He unleashed a flurry of cards at the injured bird, each one landing true.

-13

-26!

-13

-26!

“Lucky! Two aces!”

The seagull dissolved into motes of light, vanishing before it had a chance to counter.

Deckard allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. The last time he was here, pulling off something like this would have been unthinkable. Back then, he could only watch in awe as Orson, Kane, and Mason dispatched seagulls with practiced ease, making it look effortless. Now, he was doing the same—and doing it alone.

The remaining two seagulls snapped out of their daze, their angry squawks echoing against the cliffs as they rushed toward him. Deckard grinned, adrenaline surging through his veins. One down, two to go.

He was more than happy to retreat, his boots skidding on loose gravel as he put distance between himself and the incoming pair. The narrow cliffs boxed him in, the tight path forcing the seagulls to stay close together. It was perfect for his strategy. Once he had enough space, he spun on his heel and unleashed another salvo of cards. Four or five flew in rapid succession, each one a blur slicing through the air. Without waiting to see the damage, Deckard turned and sprinted again.

The cries of the two seagulls reverberated through the cliffs as they pursued him, their sharp beaks gleaming in the dim, muted light.

The stretch of road between his starting location and this point wasn’t long, but it gave him just enough room to fire three or four salvos between sprints. He repeated the attack, launching card after card until one began to glow faintly—the third ace.

The glowing card struck its target with precision, triggering a critical hit. The seagull screeched and staggered, its HP bar draining rapidly. Moments later, it collapsed into motes of light.

Deckard took a deep breath, the rush of adrenaline coursing through him. I feel like Superman. The [Lone Wolf] title was doing the heavy lifting—its power boosts made him far stronger than usual. But that didn’t diminish the thrill of victory.

The final seagull charged at him, its movements wild and erratic but blisteringly fast. Deckard sidestepped, his feet pivoting sharply as he launched another card mid-motion. The hit landed perfectly. A second card followed, finishing it off in a flash of light.

He exhaled, letting the tension ease as he watched the last of the loot shimmer into view. Quickly sifting through the glowing items, he found no rare drops this time, but it didn’t matter. The thrill of clearing waves solo was more than enough to keep him going. 

With each wave he pulled, the task became easier. The path stretched wider, giving him more room to maneuver and kite the seagulls without worrying about the cliffs boxing him in. He could run farther, set up better angles, and keep the birds at bay with well-timed salvos. 

After several waves, the trail opened fully into a wide crater, and Deckard slowed, scanning the area ahead with cautious curiosity.

This is where the first elite is.

Deckard smirked, his heart pounding with anticipation. The fear that had once paralyzed him was nowhere to be found. Instead, he felt something else—determination.

I guess it’s time to get the answer to my question.

He already owned the card for this elite, but a critical question lingered: could he capture another one? How exactly did the system’s limits work?

Back when he ran experiments to test the limits of his class, he tried to capture the same starfish twice, with no success. But this was different. He already owned a copy of [Cranky Seagull]. This was the first time he already owned a creature card, and could see what happened once he tried capturing it.

Did the system prevent him from capturing a creature if he already had its card in his repository, or did it only restrict him if he had personally captured it before? The distinction seemed minor, but the implications were enormous. If only personal captures counted, he could theoretically farm the same dungeon repeatedly for creature cards, turning them into a lucrative source of income.

This is the time to find out.

Deckard squared his shoulders, rolling them out as he shuffled his deck. His breathing steadied, the tension coiling into focus. “All right,” he muttered. “Let’s do this.”

This thing is fast, he reminded himself, the memory of his first encounter burning brightly. Back then, Orson’s team had dismantled it with laser-sharp precision, countering every move while ignoring the chaos of its summoned seagulls.

As Deckard stepped into the clearing, he shuffled his deck once more.

Four Aces!

The wind picked up, carrying with it a familiar chill. A piercing cry sliced through the air, sending a shiver down his spine. His skin prickled, and he knew exactly what was coming next.

The sound of flapping wings echoed through the crater, growing louder until a sharper, more commanding screech broke through. Deckard’s breath caught as the elite appeared, descending with a terrifying, deliberate grace.

Its feathers were pristine, gleaming like polished ivory. Every movement was precise, its presence radiating authority.

You’ve spotted a Cranky Seagull.

Your understanding of it grows.

Cranky Seagull (Elite)

Lvl. 4

HP: 800

Deckard’s first move was a Power Throw, the card hurtling through the air and striking the seagull’s chest with a resounding thwack. The impact triggered a critical hit.

-26

The Cranky Seagull let out an ear-splitting screech, its wings flapping furiously as it launched into the air. Deckard braced himself, his muscles coiling for the inevitable counterattack. The elite dove toward him with blinding speed, its razor-sharp beak aimed straight for his chest.

At the last second, Deckard sidestepped, the seagull’s dive missing by inches as it landed with a heavy thud that sent loose gravel skittering. Wasting no time, it hopped toward him in an erratic, aggressive rhythm, its wings a blur.

It’s fast but predictable, Deckard thought, maintaining his distance. He unleashed a volley of cards, each one finding its mark with precision.

The seagull finally grazed him, its sharp beak catching his side.

-16

You’ve been attacked by a Cranky Seagull.

Your understanding of it grows.

Without hesitation, Deckard activated his healing ability.

Healing Ray!

+10

He pressed the assault, card after card striking true.

You’ve fought a Cranky Seagull.

Your understanding of it grows.

Then it happened.

Screech! Screech!

The elite’s cry echoed through the crater, shrill and commanding. From the cliffs above, a small flock of Diseased Seagulls descended, their mews blending into a chaotic storm of flapping wings.

You’ve seen a Cranky Seagull rally its comrades.

Your understanding of it grows.

“Not this time,” Deckard muttered, his eyes narrowing as he raised his fist.

Spider Net!

A wet blob of white silk shot from his ring, expanding in midair and ensnaring five of the six reinforcements. The trapped seagulls screeched and flailed against the sticky webbing, but Deckard didn’t linger. He darted around the clearing, keeping the remaining bird at bay while his focus stayed locked on the elite.

Speed was everything. He couldn’t let the fight drag on and risk being overwhelmed.

The Cranky Seagull’s HP bar dipped into the yellow zone, its movements growing more erratic. Each screech carried a furious edge, its rage palpable.

It’s time to run my experiment, Deckard thought, his heartbeat quickening.

Subdimensionalize!

A vortex tore open, swirling with energy and pulling the Cranky Seagull in. With its low health and Deckard’s deep understanding of its patterns, the capture succeeded.

You’ve captured: [Cranky Seagull].

As the elite disappeared into the vortex, the flock it had summoned scattered, their cries fading into the distance. The clearing grew quiet, the tension lifting.

Relief and pride washed over Deckard as he adjusted his glasses. This was his third copy of the card, but the first one he had captured himself.

The first Cranky Seagull card had come from the [Worst Deck Ever], which he’d returned to Ratu to gain information on Ronan’s whereabouts. The second had dropped during his initial run of this dungeon. But this third one—this one—was earned entirely on his own merits.

So that means the limit isn’t whether I already have a copy of the card in my repository—it’s whether I’ve captured it before.

Deckard drummed his fingers on his knee, deep in thought. The successful capture had confirmed his theory: the Card Slinger class allowed only one personal capture of each elite or boss card. It was a subtle but critical limitation.

He had assumed that if his competitive ambitions in Terralore didn’t pan out, there was another path—a profitable one. He could make a living selling creature cards. But now, the limits of that plan were clear. These cards weren’t an infinite resource. Once he captured a boss or elite, he was locked out of farming it again. The only way to obtain more would be through trading with other players—or paying exorbitant prices on the market.

Deckard was about to resume his dungeon run when a scary thought hit him.

Wait. I can only capture a card once. And selling it off isn’t the only way I can lose a card. What if I die while running a dungeon? Or what if I’m PKed? Would I drop cards? And if I dropped a boss or elite card... could I ever get it back?

It made perfect sense. Players lost XP and items when they died. Deckard didn’t rely on XP to progress. He relied on his card collection. It would make sense for him to lose some cards whenever he died. The thought sent a chill down his spine. Losing a creature card wouldn’t just be an inconvenience. It would be a devastating blow to his progress. Especially because losing one card that was part of a set could potentially make him lose access to a crucial skill.

If that happened, the only options would be grinding for the card again—or buying it from someone else.

This class fit him like a glove, but the risks were terrifying. One wrong step and hours of effort could go to waste. Deckard clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. One thing is certain. I can’t die. No matter the cost.

Ch. 33 - Pinch Point

INDEX

Ch. 35 - Sitting Seagulls