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HC: Card Slinger | Ch. 66 – Cawldera
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 13:32:27 +0000 UTCDeckard tore through the jungle, heart pounding, branches whipping against his arms. He risked a glance back. “You! Get back here!” He’d bee
Deckard tore through the jungle, heart pounding, branches whipping against his arms. He risked a glance back.
“You! Get back here!”
He’d been caught. He doubted that they had seen how [Subdimensionalize] worked, but they’d spotted him near the elite’s spawn, they'd seen it disappear, and that was enough.
Seagull Dash!
Seawind Boots!
With a jolt, he surged forward. Roots twisted underfoot, the thick scent of damp earth rising with each frantic step. But someone was still behind him—close.
“Wait!”
Another glance back. Deckard’s stomach dropped. The player’s boots were glowing white—Seawind Boots. Same as his.
This wasn’t good. If they caught him, and killed him, he’d lose 10% of his collection. If he dropped valuable cards here, his pursuers would definitely take the cards for themselves.
Time for a Hail Mary.
He slowed, just slightly. Enough to let the player close the distance.
“You stole the elite, didn’t you?” the voice rang out, closer now. “We’ve been hunting it all morning!”
As the player drew close, Deckard turned and raised his ring.
Spider Web!
The player couldn’t stop in time. The web flared wide and caught him mid-stride, limbs tangled.
“You little trickster!”
Deckard didn’t answer. He was already running again, heart in his throat, dodging vines and ducking low branches. The sea breeze thickened, salty and sharp, as the jungle thinned.
He burst out onto the sand between Gull Rock and the village, nearly stumbling. Gasping for breath, he swapped a few gear pieces—nothing fancy, just enough to pass for a casual forager and walked calmly toward the village.
He didn't see anyone coming out of the jungle in pursuit. It seems he had made it out. Barely.
He looked at the cause of all the trouble.
Deckard frowned. Good stats for the cost, but the coin flip made it unreliable. Still, this wasn’t about raw power.
It completed his macaque collection.
After confirming the coast was clear, he slid the card into his repository.
Collection updated:
+0.2% movement speed.
Congratulations! You’ve captured all macaques living on the Island of Beginnings.
Your repository cross-references all genetic information, granting you new knowledge of this ecosystem.
You’ve received: [Macaque Elder]
Collection updated:
+0.5% movement speed.
The card awarded for completing this set was well-designed—maybe even broken—if you built a deck around it. But that “if”... Primates probably meant monkeys, apes, baboons, gorillas… maybe one day, if his collection of expanded enough, he might consider using it in a deck.
For now, he’d take the movement speed boost.
The repository shimmered once more, then another notification blinked into view.
New skill unlocked: [Card Mastery]
You can't have more than 10 skills. Delete one skill to make room for [Card Mastery].
Deckard looked around and decided to delete [Dumpster Disguise]. It had served him well to hunt the Turtle Mother, but here in the cleaner jungle, it wouldn’t do much for him.
Card Mastery (Common)
Description: You’ve learned how to make the most of the damage from cards.
Effect: Passive. +10% damage to card throws.
“Nice.”
He’d been quietly frustrated seeing other players unlock passives like this. Good to know the system had a way of rewarding his path, too.
A 10% bonus was minor now, but it would scale as his attack points climbed. Small steps.
Deckard turned inland. One goal left on the Island of Beginnings: the macaws.
*
Deckard had come to know the jungles of Beginner Island well. He’d spent the last few days roaming their tangled paths, hunting for this final elite.
But today, his path bent toward unfamiliar ground—straight to the island’s heart.
The trees began to thin. The air turned sharp, laced with the scent of sulfur. Heat shimmered across the trail ahead. Then the land dropped away.
He stopped, eyes wide.
The Cawldera.
A massive crater yawned at the island’s center, the hollow remnant of a long-dead volcano. Jagged black rock ringed the basin like broken teeth. At the bottom, a thin lake shimmered like molten glass, steam curling into the air in slow, lazy plumes. Sparse, scorched trees clung stubbornly to the rocky slopes, their branches twisted and bare.
Battles raged across the basin. Players moved in tight units, shouting commands. Cutting through the noise, loud caws echoed—deep and rough, like stone cracking under strain.
So these are the famed macaws.
Blurs of blue and yellow tore through the chaos like living wrecking balls. Their massive beaks snapped with crushing force. Whatever the Rain of Fire had done to them, it hadn’t been kind. The macaws were no longer graceful sky dancers. They were hulking, ground-bound beasts—too heavy to fly, but terrifyingly agile.
The way they moved—flapping stubby wings while charging on clawed feet—reminded Deckard of chickens or overgrown turkeys. Only meaner. Much meaner.
He followed the rim of the crater until he found a vantage point over one of the battles.
Five players had cornered a blue macaw against a rock wall.
It didn’t panic.
It screeched—then lunged, running faster than any gull. It slammed into the front line, launching one player into the air. It spun with brutal precision, beak snapping, then flapped its wings—hard. Feathers exploded outward like razors, slicing through the closest two attackers.
A warrior raised an axe to counter.
The macaw dodged.
Not a flinch—a maneuver. A sidestep just ahead of the strike. Another evasive shift as a telekinetic pulse passed where its chest had been a second earlier.
It’s fast, strong, and smart. And that’s just a blue macaw.
Even so, the players quickly regrouped, tightening their formation and overwhelming the creature.
Deckard squinted at the terrain. Between the skirmishes, patches of earth hissed and smoked. Fumaroles. Superheated vents erupted at random, launching jets of scalding steam into the air. One burst near a player who’d strayed too far from his group—his scream was immediate, followed by a flurry of red numbers and a collapse into the ash-dusted dirt.
Tsk. This place is a minefield.
The more he watched, the more his apprehension grew.
Off to the left, a trio was battling a macaw when the creature suddenly spun and bolted—not away, but toward a second macaw nearby. Whether it was answering a call, responding to sound, or just instinct, it charged straight into the second battle.
Now there were two macaws and two tangled teams. Feathers flew, players shouted over each other, and skills flared in every direction. What had started as a manageable fight turned instantly into a chaotic brawl.
Oof. They're even worse than seagulls when it comes to aggro.
Deckard kept studying the battleground, eyes scanning every detail, every pattern.
Then a sound split the air—a piercing caw, shrill enough that he clapped his hands over his ears on reflex.
At the center of the Cawldera, the lord of the island emerged: the Red Macaw.
Teams scattered across the basin turned at once, drawn toward the center like moths to flame.
“Here we go,” Deckard muttered.
It looked like any other macaw—except for the deep red plumage, like it had been painted in blood. But once it entered combat, the difference became obvious.
The second wild boss of Beginner Island moved like lightning. It blurred from one group to the next, sending players flying with each pass. It didn’t just fight—it disrupted. A boss that refused to be pinned down.
“Uh? The players are so well organized...”
He’d watched plenty of fights against the Turtle Mother before. There was always a touch of chaos—someone missing a cue, a healer scrambling to reposition.
But this?
This was too precise. Too clean. Players held their ground, striking when the Red Macaw passed into range, never overcommitting, never chasing. Every movement looked practiced.
Something wasn’t right.
Deckard opened his browser and typed: “red macaw + Beginner Island”.
Dozens of hits appeared instantly.
After skimming through the threads, Deckard leaned back, exhaling. “So that’s how it is. It’s because of the level limitations.”
In AstroTerra, wild bosses didn’t spawn or drop anything if high-level players were nearby. It was a safeguard, meant to keep early-game content from being completely dominated by guilds.
If someone over-leveled stuck around just to grief new players, GMs could step in and apply penalties.
Even so, the Red Macaw remained one of the most coveted bosses on the island, and the reason was [Red Marrow]—a rare consumable that permanently boosted a player’s attributes.
Stat-boosting consumables never lost value. It remained relevant across levels, and was always in demand. What player couldn’t use more stats?
The way that the guilds found to circumvent the GMs was by creating specialized farm teams. Deckard had seen this kind of setup before—back at Gull Rock, with Orson’s crew. They’d farmed the same dungeon repeatedly for a boss drop called [Filth Neutralizer], another item prized by guilds.
Whenever a character grew too high-level to qualify for the drop, they simply reset their account and started again. These weren’t just players grinding for loot. They were specialists—rotating accounts, staying within level limits, and working the system to perfection.
Deckard leaned back, the realization settling like a weight in his chest.
I guess that the only items in Beginner Island that guilds truly care about are the Sea Ghoul’s drop and the Red Macaw’s.
Tension coiled behind his ribs as he exhaled.
This was worse than he’d imagined.
First, macaws weren’t designed to be tackled solo. They had high HP and unpredictable behavior. Pinning one down without support wasn’t just difficult—it was borderline impossible. And Deckard played solo.
Inside dungeons, he could compensate. His title—Lone Vanguard—helped him punch above his weight. But out here? That edge was gone.
Second, it wasn’t just that the macaws were strong. The players hunting them were better. Veterans. Specialists. The kind of people who made hunting Red Macaws their full-time job.
How was he supposed to compete with that?
And worst of all, he didn’t just want a kill. He needed all the skill cards.
Blue macaws dropped six different ones. The Red Macaw added two more, unique to it. Not as valuable to guilds, but still highly sought after.
Ten cards. But with odds like this? It might as well have been a thousand.
Deckard closed the browser, massaging his temples. He needed to devise a plan. Worse—he had to find a team. Not just any group of hopefuls, but one that could take down a Red Macaw without falling apart under pressure.
I guess I always knew this moment would come—where I’d have to rely on others.
As a professional card player, he’d gone solo for years. In card tournaments, everything was one-on-one. No allies. Just his deck, his choices, and his strategy.
But AstroTerra was a different beast. Even if he competed alone in Terralore, there were limits to what a solo player could do out here. Limits he’d just slammed into face-first.
Knowing he had to team up didn’t mean he liked it.
Too many unknowns. How would he even find a group he wanted to join? More importantly, how could he make them want him?
One thing was clear: keeping his class a secret was about to get a lot harder.
And that, more than anything, made his skin crawl.
Deckard pictured the worst-case scenarios. Clips of him slinging cards and soloing bosses popping up online. Players he’d sniped elites from showing up for revenge. Guild representatives knocking on his door, demanding answers about his class.
Or maybe he was just being paranoid. He did tend to overthink things. That, and to see potential bullies in every shadow.
Still, facts were facts. To complete the macaw set—and move on—he needed help. Whether he liked it or not.
******
Author's note:
I realize that I haven't discussed the 10-skill limit before. This was due to poor math on my part. I've gone back to the chapter where Deckard first unlocks an 11th skill, and added a small bit that explains that players can't have more than 10 skills in the game.
Comments
Cássio Ferreira
Hi there! For all classes. (This has already been revealed in Hidden Class: Pacifist.)
Firf
I actually think it is good. I read too many novels where the characters got so many skills they never used and just went 'power generalization ' route. Limited skills is better for the storytelling and also to 'keep the game conpetitive', as nobody can get too OP just by having too many skills. That said is only valid if every player is limited to 10 skills too.
Firf
Is the 10 skills limits exclusive for his class or is for all classes?
Alucard Hellsing
10 skill limit is kinda lame
