Beyond the jutting outcrop of Gull Rock stretched Shell Bay.

  Two cliffs curved inward to embrace the shoreline in a protective U-shape. The white sands shimmered under the afternoon sun, wide and inviting. Scattered across the beach were boulders, like milestones marking the transition from looming rocky walls to soft, open sand. Some stones were smooth and rounded by tides, while others jutted sharply, their jagged edges etched with the scars of time. As the rocks grew larger and more numerous near the cliffs, it was as if the beach was in retreat, losing ground to the encroaching stone.

  The surf in the bay was calmer, the waves gentler and more subdued, lapping at the sand with a steady, soothing rhythm. The water was crystal clear, its surface catching the sunlight and reflecting it in a kaleidoscope of shifting blues and greens. Farther out, the waters deepened into a rich azure, and Deckard could make out faint coral beds beneath the surface.

  While the sea was calmer here compared to the beaches where Deckard had been hunting seagulls, the beach itself was far more chaotic. Packs of crabs scuttled across the sands with startling speed, each as big as a dog. Even at first glance, Deckard could tell there were different types of crabs within each group. Their shells gleamed in vibrant shades of blue, red, and yellow, forming a striking mosaic of color as they darted in jagged, unpredictable lines.

  The largest crabs in the groups were blue, their hulking forms standing out against the smaller creatures. Deckard’s eyes widened as recognition hit. Wait a minute. Isn’t that… Yeah. That’s the crab enforcer. He remembered the card’s artwork vividly, the same hulking, cobalt shell, and powerful claws. It had been part of his deck only briefly, but it was one of the keys to his first victory against Ratu.

  Seeing the creature in the wild stirred a flicker of excitement. Not a bad card, he thought, his lips curling into a faint smile. And now I know where to find one.

  Slightly smaller than the blue crabs were others with bright, fiery red shells. These seemed more active, their claws clicking loudly every so often. Each time this happened, a faint glow radiated across the rest of the group. Deckard’s eyes narrowed as he observed the effect. A buff of some kind, he concluded. They’re bolstering their allies. Interesting.

  Trailing behind were clusters of smaller, yellow crabs. Quick and skittish, they moved almost in unison, weaving through the larger crabs like darting shadows. Deckard couldn’t decide whether the groups were organized like families or something more militaristic, with distinct roles assigned to each crab type. Whatever the case, every pack he observed had the same composition: the commanding blues, the clacking reds, and the nimble yellows.

  Players swarmed the beach, their shouts mingling with the flash of skills. Deckard focused on the group hunting closest to him. One player in the group kept spamming a skill Deckard recognized from his own deck: [Taunting Shout]. Each time the player activated it, a red glow marked the crabs, and they immediately swerved toward him in a frenzy. With practiced precision, he led the pack in wide, looping circles, his boots kicking up sprays of sand as he stayed just ahead of their snapping pincers.

  It’s kind of what I do when I’m hunting seagulls, Deckard mused. The realization brought a small sense of satisfaction. At least I’m not lacking compared to this guy.

  While the player kited the crabs, the rest of the group moved in tandem, exploiting the distraction to chip away at the crabs’ health. Two of them kept spamming another skill Deckard had seen before: [Seagull Poison]. A faint, sickly green cloud clung to the crabs, trailing after them like an ominous shadow. The toxin slowly drained their health, allowing the team to conserve energy while letting the poison do most of the heavy lifting.

  The remaining players worked efficiently to thin the herd, targeting the weakest crabs and bringing them down one by one. Their coordination was impressive, but Deckard couldn’t help noting the repetitive, almost mechanical nature of their approach.

  A familiar chime echoed in his ears, pulling his attention away from the hunt.

  You’ve seen a crab enforcer fight.

  Your understanding of it grows.

  You’ve seen a crab underling fight.

  Your understanding of it grows.

  You’ve seen a crab cheerleader fight.

  Your understanding of it grows.

  Deckard smirked. At least three cards are in the bag. I wonder if there are other types of crabs for me to capture or how I’ll get their skill cards.

  Curious to get a better view of the action, Deckard climbed atop one of the larger boulders nearby. From his elevated position, he scanned the beach, his gaze darting from group to group. Everywhere he looked, players were employing the same tactics: large parties of six to ten people, kiting packs of crabs with [Taunting Shout] while green clouds of poison trailed ominously in their wake. Now that he knew what to look for, the patterns were glaringly obvious.

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  No matter how carefully he searched, Deckard couldn’t spot a single solo player. The reason became clear when a nearby group of crabs suddenly spawned. Sixteen of them emerged at once: one hulking blue, one fiery red, and fourteen quick, skittish yellows. The sight confirmed his suspicion—there were no lone crabs on the beach, only tightly coordinated groups. Fighting them alone wasn’t just impractical—it was a death sentence.

  Deckard’s brows furrowed. The developers are forcing players to fight as teams here, he thought. Can’t blame them—it’s part of the fun of this kind of game. For most players, it was probably exciting, a welcome chance to join forces with others. But for Deckard, the thought was troubling.

  As a card gamer, he’d always preferred to go solo. More importantly, he had a hidden class. Running around in large groups wasn’t just inconvenient—it was risky. Flaunting his unique playstyle in front of so many players could easily draw unwanted attention. From his experience as a former bullying victim, attention was dangerous.

  As Deckard continued to scan the beach, his gaze shifted to another group near the water’s edge. They were clustered around a simple raft, pushing it carefully into the shallows. The raft looked fragile, its wooden logs barely bound together with frayed ropes. It had a flat, square base with two barrels lashed beneath for buoyancy, giving it a slightly uneven appearance.

  Two players clambered aboard, their movements cautious as the raft rocked under their weight. For a moment, it wobbled precariously before settling on the gentle waves. Their companions stayed behind, wading into the water and swimming alongside as the raft began to drift out to sea.

  Deckard’s curiosity deepened as he followed their trajectory. Beyond the breakers, a dozen more rafts dotted the bay, bobbing lazily on the rolling waves like scattered leaves. The players aboard them were busy, though their actions were too far away for Deckard to discern their exact purpose.

  Several other players swam between the rafts, their splashes faint against the rhythmic crash of the surf. Deckard frowned, his eyes narrowing as he tried to piece it together. Are they fishing? Scouting for something underwater? Whatever they were doing, they moved with a sense of purpose, their attention fixed on something he couldn’t yet see or understand.

  The whole scene nagged at him. He made a mental note to investigate later—if only to satisfy his growing curiosity.

  Deckard’s attention shifted to a large rock on the right side of the bay, jutting up from the sand like a sentinel. The rock's rough, pitted surface bore the scars of years spent battling salt and surf, with a sandy trail leading to a gentle slope for easy climbing. What truly caught his eye, though, was the lively crowd gathered on top. The rock was broad and flat, providing plenty of space for clusters of players spread across it. A few daring individuals perched near its edges, their legs dangling carelessly over the side.

  What’s going on there?

  Curiosity piqued, Deckard climbed down from the rock, made the short walk to the boulder, and scrambled up with ease. At the top, the scene unfolded before him: groups of players deep in animated discussions, others reorganizing their hunting parties, and a few industrious sellers hawking wares.

  It’s just like the pier at Stiltwave Village, Deckard thought. There was one major difference, though. Everyone here looked better equipped. Gone were the drab outfits of fresh spawns. Here, players wore gear leagues better than anything Ronan sold in his shabby shop.

  Deckard’s eyes caught on a splash of color—a bright red towel laid out like a merchant’s display table. Behind it stood a young woman with short, green hair that caught the sunlight, her loose tank top giving her a casual, breezy look. Her wares were neatly arranged, their deliberate organization designed to draw attention.

  Deckard crouched down to examine her wares. Most of the items looked familiar—food, healing salves, [Power Rum] and even some bait bundles. He recognized them all.

  “Hi there,” she greeted him with a friendly smile.

  “Hey, you know you can buy these in town, right?” he asked.

  The woman’s smirk widened as she crossed her arms. “Sure, but ten coppers is for the effort of dragging them all the way out here. Unless you feel like walking back to town mid-hunt?”

  Deckard chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

  He stepped away as her voice rang out again, pitching her wares to the next curious passerby.

  Not far off, a burly, middle-aged man with a thick beard and a sun-weathered face was shouting over the din. “Will do a drop run to Stiltwave Village for one silver! Drop your loot, keep huntin’, no interruptions!”

  Deckard paused to watch as a pair of players handed over small sacks of items. The man secured them in his pack with practiced efficiency, tipping his wide-brimmed hat in acknowledgment. “Save yerself the headache of haulin’ it all back!” he called out. “One silver, that’s all it costs!”

  Deckard grinned at the man’s hustle. Convenient. And smart.

  Nearby, a flash of familiar rectangular shapes caught his eye. He hurried over to a player sitting cross-legged, displaying two cards on a tattered piece of canvas. The player, a gangly teenager with a mop of messy blond hair, beamed as Deckard approached.

  “Hi, man! Want to buy these? They will help you hunt crabs. Easy!”

  Deckard crouched down, his stomach sinking slightly as he examined the cards: [Seagull Poison] and [Taunting Roar].

  “Got any other cards?” Deckard asked, hopeful.

  The boy shook his head apologetically. “Sorry, man. Just these for now.”

  Deckard sighed, standing. Further along, Deckard noticed a pair of players pointing animatedly toward the rafts in the water. Their lively discussion drew his attention.

  “—see how those guys are staying in that area again? Told you, it’s the best spot!” the wiry man insisted with an exasperated sigh.

  “I don’t know,” the woman replied, her voice calm but firm. “I still think the reef has better odds. You just don’t want to admit I’m right.”

  “Excuse me, guys,” Deckard interjected, stepping closer.

  The pair turned to him curiously. “Hello,” the man said cautiously while the woman gave a subtle nod.

  “I was just wondering—what are those players doing on the rafts and in the water?” Deckard asked, gesturing toward the bay.

  The man exchanged a knowing look with his companion. “They’re turtle hunting,” he said, clearly enjoying the chance to explain.

  “Turtles?” Deckard echoed, glancing between the crabs on the beach and the distant rafts. He smirked. “Ha. Turtles and crabs. Shell Bay. The name makes sense now.”

  A frenzy of movement erupted in the water, breaking Deckard’s train of thought. Rafts converged on a single point, players shouting and jostling for position. His eyes darted to the commotion as something dark and massive breached the surface. For a moment, he thought it was another rock until it shifted, waves rippling around its rounded shell.

  “It spawned!” the man exclaimed, pointing excitedly.

  “What spawned?” Deckard asked, his curiosity sharpening.

  “The turtle wild boss,” the woman replied.

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