Heart of the Ocean (17): Monster Appears

After returning to his previous base, Xu Xu stayed inside no matter what happened outside—unless someone came looking for trouble, he didn’t venture out again.  

For two whole days, he was on edge, plagued by nightmares, terrified that Tan Xiao and that terrifying jellyfish would come after him for a third kill.  

Even though he still had a third resurrection chance—and if he failed again, he could use a revival card to escape the instance immediately—he had already wasted two revival items. The sunk cost was too high. If he couldn’t clear this instance and left empty-handed, dying like this would be too bitter a pill to swallow.  

Aside from the storm keeping him indoors, another major reason for his seclusion was the psychological trauma from those two deaths. He had never suffered such a crushing defeat before, and the shock left him jumpy, afraid the next person he ran into would be another ruthless opponent like Tan Xiao.  

The other two players who had fled the horrifying courtyard also returned to the homestay. Now, there were five people in the lodging: Xu Xu, his two guildmates, and the young married couple.  

The husband from the couple was injured, moaning and groaning at home while his wife dutifully cared for him, cooking meals every day.  

The other two players had nothing better to do, so they kept a close eye on the wife while she cooked, worried she might slip something sinister into the food.  

After all, many players had been tricked by NPCs before. In an instance like this, with deep-sea monsters, at least the threats were physical mutations. But in supernatural instances, malicious NPCs might feed players meals laced with cremated ashes.  

In this tense, miserable atmosphere, they endured for three days, eating through most of their supplies, until the skies finally cleared.  

Once the weather improved, the hungry survivors began venturing out for food and assisting in disaster relief—mostly the locals, though. If the players refrained from looting at a time like this, it was already a sign of basic decency.  

Xu Xu, however, was predatory by nature. After three days holed up at home without any sign of Tan Xiao or that jellyfish coming for him, he finally regained his composure. The moment the skies cleared, he took the initiative to strike.  

Even with only three of them left, Xu Xu—still the strongest fighter among them—led a successful raid on several buildings, seizing most of the locals’ remaining supplies.  

But he wasn’t completely heartless. When looting, he made sure to leave the survivors just enough to avoid immediate starvation.  

In disaster-type instances like this, achieving certain thresholds in either saving or killing NPCs could earn system rewards and achievements. Xu Xu had previously chosen slaughter—his S-rank instance rating was built on that.  

But this time, after provoking Tan Xiao and that monster, losing his teammates, and suffering heavy losses, he decided to save more locals instead.

Xu Xu actually had considerable resources. After looting the area, he incorporated more manpower into his base. Consolidating supplies allowed for better distribution—after all, once the 20-day game scenario ended, everything would be over if it was just a natural disaster.  

During his expansion and recruitment efforts, Xu Xu naturally encountered resistance, including clashes with other player factions.  

These battles did wonders for restoring his confidence: The others in this instance were nothing special. It wasn’t that he was weak—it was just that the monster was too strong, too abnormal, too beyond expectations.  

It was highly likely that the monster was the ultimate boss of this instance. In this god game, there was an unspoken consensus among players: bosses are nearly invincible. The higher the instance’s difficulty, the more terrifying the boss’s strength.  

Players could only flee, find ways to mitigate damage, or exploit the rules to constrain the boss—never confront it head-on, let alone attack it proactively.  

Surviving a direct encounter with a boss-level monster was already a stroke of luck.  

Tan Xiao, however, was different. Though a player himself, he wasn’t the particularly kind or meddlesome type. As the saying goes: “If poor, tend to your own virtue; if prosperous, care for all under heaven.”  

With a ravenous jellyfish, a high-maintenance dog, and plenty of secrets at home, actively engaging with others wasn’t a smart choice.  

Still, the earlier skirmish taught him that holing up at home didn’t mean doing nothing. Keeping tabs on outside developments was necessary.  

Tan Xiao deployed Drone No. 1, equipped with a camera. Since the island had no network, he rigged up a radio device—not reliable for long-range communication, but sufficient for short distances.  

During his shopping trips in the first few days, Tan Xiao had circled the island multiple times. He wouldn’t claim to remember 100% of the locals, but he recognized most NPCs.  

Of course, some players might be different. Without communicating with others, he couldn’t be sure if every participant in this instance had a tourist identity—some might be roleplaying as natives.  

But regardless of their origins, if these people were trapped and calling for help, Tan Xiao would airdrop some survival supplies via drone upon spotting them.  

Nothing extravagant—just a bottle of water and a small pack of compressed biscuits, enough to last several days if rationed carefully.  

Truthfully, after days of torrential rain, dehydration wasn’t the main issue—starvation was.  

Not everyone received these supplies. Only those on the brink of starvation qualified. Some residents had nearly exhausted their food before the typhoon, meaning they hadn’t eaten for seven or eight days, not just three.

For those simply trapped, Tan Xiao airdropped different supplies—long ropes, plastic basins, empty water bottles, or buoyant boards and life rings.  

The life rings were limited in number and uninflated, but still functional—they could blow them up themselves.  

In this crisis, many were destined to die. Relying solely on others to save you wasn’t survival—people had to learn to save themselves.  

Tan Xiao didn’t believe he could save everyone. He only did what he could, acting in a way that let him sleep at night.  

Under the clear skies, factions formed and expanded within a single day.  

Aside from Xu Xu, there was another group on the island—the failed messenger team from the Changsheng Group.  

Their ruthless young master, though dressed like nobility, was far crueler than Xu Xu. With nearly twenty people, including bodyguards, this faction looted even more aggressively, leaving nothing for the locals.  

They also recruited some islanders, but only the strong and healthy—no weak or elderly. Beyond seizing supplies, the Changsheng heir employed every tactic of coercion and bribery, pushing his advantage to the extreme.  

Uncertain of when they could leave, they hoarded supplies relentlessly. With new recruits, their group swelled to nearly a hundred.  

The armed bodyguards could easily take on ten men each. Eighty extra mouths were manageable, but any more would invite chaos.  

For the young master, a hundred-strong force was more than enough to deter threats from other islanders.  

When Xu Xu clashed with this group, he neither suffered a crushing defeat nor gained any real advantage.  

Under normal circumstances, he could’ve killed their leader—but there was no point. Their true enemies were the mutated monsters. With so many already dead, preserving some useful manpower was necessary.  

Both factions moved swiftly. In just one day, the island’s power balance was set.  

Tan Xiao remained independent, like his solitary little house—unaffiliated with either group.  

But these newly formed factions soon faced disaster.  

A green-skinned monkey creature scaled the walls of Xu Xu’s new stronghold. In response to the Changsheng Group’s threat, Xu Xu had rapidly expanded his team to five hundred—not just elites, but also the island’s weak and elderly.  

Strong men had power, but to protect their families, even the weak could unleash terrifying force.  

Moreover, more men meant more conflicts. Those with families to feed were less likely to cause trouble, burdened by their dependents.  

With such numbers, the couple’s home could no longer accommodate them. Xu Xu commandeered the island’s elevated library.  

The kappa monster loved crowded places. A cowardly bully by nature, it had one particularly vile habit.  

Climbing the library’s outer wall, the kappa pried open a window—and came face-to-face with a man enjoying the view.  

The man froze, but the kappa was faster. It lunged, its sharp claws aiming for one of the human’s most vulnerable spots: the tailgate!  

Ah Sang: The chrysanthemums of my homeland are in bloom.  

With its first kill secured, the excited kappa charged at others.  

Screams erupted as the rest finally realized: “Monsters! There are monsters here!”  

Meanwhile, the Changsheng Group’s territory faced a different horror—not the kappa, but the terrifying octopus.  

After days of absence, the octopus had grown even more monstrous. Too massive to fully emerge, only one of its tentacles breached the surface.  

With that single limb, it ripped an entire building from its foundations, flinging the structure—along with the Changsheng members and their recruits—into the sea.  

The research facility’s monsters had come for revenge. They didn’t understand restraint or selective retaliation.  

Some had drawn too much hatred and would die first—but the remaining survivors weren’t spared either.  

A few stray water monkeys targeted Tan Xiao’s homestay. Literal water monkeys—experimental hybrids of land mammals and frogs—they had furry bodies and slick limbs.  

With the island flooded, the courtyard walls were useless. The creatures leaped effortlessly, unharmed by submerged glass shards.  

Agile climbers, they scaled the building’s exterior, reaching the third floor in moments.