Deckard picked the loot from yet another fallen group of macaques.

  “Oh, nice! Another card,” he said, inspecting it.

  Axe Mastery ??

  Rarity: Common

  Type: Skill

  Affinity: Nature ??

  Cost: 1

  Effect: +1 to a creature. Bonus triples if it’s [Stoneaxe Macaque].

  That made three weapon mastery skills—[Spear Mastery], [Blunt Mastery], and [Axe Mastery]. And he’d captured the matching macaques for each: [Spearhead Macaque], [Clubhouse Macaque], and [Stoneaxe Macaque].

  He hadn’t planned on building a macaque deck—they were too synergy-reliant, and he preferred a more flexible playstyle. But some of these cards had better base stats than what he was currently running. He was strongly considering slotting one or two macaques in.

  Moreover, his inventory already had two axes, two spears, and one club. This dungeon was incredible for farming weapons.

  He checked the time. Just over an hour since he’d entered. The run had been smooth—decent loot, no real surprises.

  As he moved forward, a massive tree filled the path ahead, disrupting the usual stretch of open-air gaps between the branches. It rose like a natural barricade, bark thick with moss and hanging vines that swayed in the humid breeze. The leaves above rustled softly, and in the distance, a whoop echoed through the treetops. The canopy felt alive—and not in a comforting way.

  Deckard rounded the bend.

  There it was.

  A wide wooden platform lay nestled between the upper boughs. Six macaques patrolled the approach, armed with the usual crude mix of spears, clubs, and axes. But beyond them, resting on a raised bed of vines and knotted branches, was a larger macaque.

  It was nearly twice the size of the others. Patches of gray streaked its fur. A heavy bronze bracelet clung to one wrist, and beside it lay a thorn-wrapped cudgel.

  The Macaque Leader.

  He’d seen its card before—Ratu had played it against him in their first match. He even remembered its holographic projection. But seeing feeling its powerful presence in person hit differently.

  But before he could reach it, there was the small matter of the six macaques in his way.

  He crept forward to the edge of a branch and scanned the scene. The tree blocked most of the open space he usually used for ranged throws. He’d have to start the fight closer to the macaques than he liked. And once the first card flew, they’d all come running.

  I don’t think I can finish them all off before they reach me. And I already have all their creature cards, so I can’t use [Subdimensionalize].

  He wasn’t too worried about their damage output. But the knockback effect of their attacks was another story, especially the club-wielding macaques. They could fling you into the abyss with one good hit. He’d already had a near-death experience thanks to one.

  Yeah… no room for mistakes.

  Deckard adjusted his spectacles as he went mentally through all his skills, items, and cooldowns.

  Hmmm… I guess I’ll have to use one of my trump cards.

  He was confident he could manage if he used one of his item skills. Now that he’d mapped out the fight, Deckard shuffled his deck.

  Four Aces!

  Kinetic charge surged through four cards. He followed up with [Pinch Point], and glowing weak spots shimmered across the macaques’ foreheads.

  He hurled a card.

  Heavy Shot!

  -95!

  The first macaque staggered as its HP plummeted. Deckard didn’t stop. A second card struck clean between the eyes. The next one missed, but then another one found its mark.

  -42!

  -17

  -42!

  -17

  He’d spent the last hour fine-tuning his [Pinch Point] aim, and it was finally paying off. When the macaques stood still—even for a second—he could nail their weak spots more often than not. Moving targets were still tricky, but he was getting there.

  The 150% bonus damage made it worth the effort. A single clean shot could tear through a large portion of their health bar.

  Under Deckard’s barrage, one of the macaques burst into light, dropping its loot in a neat little pile on the branch below.

  Stolen story; please report.

  The others shrieked and thumped their weapons—but Deckard kept the pressure up. A second macaque exploded in a flash, a few moments later.

  The remaining four charged.

  Deckard retreated, flinging cards as he moved.

  Pa! Pa! Pa!

  -17

  -17

  -34!

  If I can take out just one more before they reach me…

  Then his foot slipped—half on a branch, half in empty air. He flailed and barely caught a vine, heart lurching.

  “Stupid gaps,” he muttered. “No wonder there are so many complaints online!”

  Steadying himself, he launched another card and the third macaque went up in light.

  Only three left, and they were nearly on top of him.

  He stretched out his fist.

  Spider Web!

  Silver threads exploded from his [Spider Crab Ring], tangling the three macaques just in time.

  Deckard let out a breath.

  Already, one of the macaques began to strain against the webbing. He didn’t have long.

  I need as much distance as possible. That web’s got a long cooldown—I can’t count on it again anytime soon.

  Seagull Dash!

  His body blurred forward along the branch-road—

  —and then his foot caught on a raised root.

  He stumbled, momentum carrying him off-balance.

  “Wait—!”

  The treetops spun. Then he was falling.

  Wind roared past his ears.

  You have died.

  When you die, you lose a level, and one of your stats will drop. As this is your first death, no penalty will be applied. You will be returned to your last save point.

  The world blinked and Deckard reappeared in Siltwave Village, standing atop one of the broad wooden platforms near the village hub. He stood still for a second, dumbfounded.

  “No way. I died?!”

  He turned and kicked a nearby post. It rattled slightly against its base.

  A couple of players nearby looked over. One snorted.

  “Haha! Noob! Dying in the beginner region!”

  “Hey, it’s alright, bro. Happens to everyone. Don’t tear down the village in your anger!”

  Deckard didn’t respond. He wasn’t annoyed by the comments—or not much, anyway. That wasn’t the real problem.

  “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “I fell.”

  He’d been doing everything right. Managing his energy. Timing his cooldowns. Landing weak-point hits. He was almost at the elite.

  Now he was back at the starting line. Using [Seagull Dash] had been his downfall. He should’ve just run like normal.

  He hadn’t died when soloing bosses and elites. Not even the Puppeteer in the jungle had killed him. He’d expected his first death to come from something worthy—a boss fight or an epic battle where he was outnumbered. But this?

  That first free pass was incredibly valuable. Everyone said to hold onto it as long as possible. Most players used it as insurance in higher-level zones, during risky pulls or dungeon runs gone wrong.

  Deckard kicked the post again. Once. Twice. Then let out a breath.

  “What’s done is done,” Deckard muttered. “I needed to find out what happens when I die anyway.”

  He left the platform and made his way through the village, boots tapping against the wooden planks. Once he reached the shoreline, he dove into the water and swam swimming—away from the Trash Islet, well beyond the usual fishing spots.

  He kept going until the village was little more than a blur behind him and the sea stretched out in every direction.

  There were no other players in sight. Just quiet, open water.

  “Alright. I think this is a good place to experiment.”

  Normally, players who died lost a level, dropped some equipment, and had their stats temporarily crippled. Recovery required a visit to a clinic NPC for physiotherapy. The first session was free, but the cost increased with each one.

  That was the standard system. But Deckard didn’t level up like other players. His progress was tied to his growing collection of cards.

  I had to find out eventually, he told himself, especially since I run dungeons solo.

  His [Lone Wolf] title gave him an edge for now, but the higher the dungeon level, the less it would matter. A +10 attack bonus helped against enemies with 100 HP. Against ones with a thousand, it barely registered.

  He opened his browser to double-check the drop mechanics. “Okay… items stay where they fall. No time limits. Whoever gets there first, keeps them. Good.”

  He took one last long look around, scanning the waves. He was still alone.

  Satisfied, he dove.

  The water closed over him with a hush, muting the distant sounds of the village. He swam down past a school of sardines, letting the dim ocean fold around him. This part of the sea was deep, and more importantly, there was no reason for other players to come here.

  Still, he didn’t want to take chances. He searched the ocean floor until he found a rocky outcrop that formed a small crevice. It shaded a patch of sand from the surface. It was perfect for hiding dropped loot.

  He nestled into place and waited.

  Thanks to his underwater titles, he could stay submerged far longer than most players. Even so, the warnings eventually came.

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

  -1

  -2

  ...

  The damage escalated. Then finally:

  You have drowned and died.

  You’ve dropped eight cards.

  You lost one attack. You’ll need physiotherapy.

  You will be brought back to your last save point.

  The world blinked again and Deckard reappeared on the planks of Siltwave Village.

  He didn’t hesitate. He bolted toward the shore and dove back into the water, swimming with everything he had toward the drop site. Every second mattered. If someone else found his cards, they’d be gone for good.

  Even as he swam, his mind was racing, trying to process the implications of what he’d just learned from the death notifications.

  I lost one attack. As I thought—stats or no stats, I’m still crippled after death.

  Unlike regular players who lost stats like Strength or Agility—each tied to multiple game systems like HP, weight capacity, and regen—his penalty struck directly at attributes. In a sense he suffered less.

  Wait... that’s not true. Don’t I lose the attributes related to the cards I dropped?

  Part of him wanted to check his character sheet. He was curious to find out exactly which eight cards had dropped. But he didn’t dare—not yet. Despite all his precautions, there was still a chance some random passerby might have stumbled across the drop.

  A skull icon appeared on his minimap, marking the site of his death.

  He dove, cutting through the deepening blue, eyes locked on the familiar rock formation.

  There they were. Tucked safely in the sand beneath the crevice—eight cards.

  A wave of relief swept through him. No other player had passed through. Nothing had gone missing.

  [The Claw] was among them, along with three uncommons and four commons. He could farm the common cards again in time. But boss or elite creatures caught with [Subdimensionalize] were nearly irreplaceable. That skill only worked once per creature.

  Only after collecting them did he open his character sheet.

  Just as he suspected. He hadn’t just lost one point of base attack—several attributes tied to dropped cards had vanished too. Until he recaptured them, those bonuses were gone.

  “At least now I know what I’m dealing with.”

  He slipped the cards back into his sleeve and turned toward the surface. It was time to swim back to the village.

  Next stop: the physiotherapy NPC. He’d need that point of attack restored if he wanted another shot at the Armed Macaques' Nest.