Adrift: A LitRPG Castaway Survival Grind: The Castaway System: Book One by Vane Kaelen

Author:Vane, Kaelen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22: Sharks, Paddles, and a Panicked Retreat

The sight of those fins, sleek and menacing, turned my exhilaration into icy dread. My little log raft, which had felt like such a triumph moments before, now seemed like a laughably inadequate dinner plate in a shark-infested ocean. Sparky, pressed close against me, was trembling, a low, continuous growl rumbling in his chest.

<DANGER! Apex Predators Detected: [Coastal Sharks (Medium Size, Pack Behavior)]!>

Threat Level: High (to occupants of small, unstable watercraft).

Recommendation: Avoid sudden movements. Do not bleed into the water. Consider rapidly improving your [Paddling] skill in the direction of land.

“No kidding, brain-box!” I hissed, my heart hammering against my ribs. ‘Rapidly improving my paddling skill’ sounded like an excellent idea. The problem was, land seemed very far away, and my crude paddle was about as effective as a soup ladle against the ocean currents.

The sharks, there were at least three of them, circled the raft, their movements sinuous and unnervingly calm. They weren’t attacking, not yet, just… investigating. One of them, bolder than the others, swam directly under the raft. I felt a distinct bump as its dorsal fin scraped against the logs. Sparky yelped, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Okay, okay, easy boy,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady, mostly for my own benefit. Sudden movements, the HUD had said. I tried to remain as still as possible, which was difficult when every instinct was screaming at me to paddle like a maniac.

My fishing line, still trailing pathetically in the water, was the least of my concerns now. I fumbled to pull it in, not wanting anything to further attract their attention. The baited hook came up empty, unsurprisingly.

One of the sharks, a particularly large one with a scarred snout, swam closer, its dark, emotionless eye fixing on me. It was close enough that I could see the rows of serrated teeth in its slightly agape mouth. This was not how I’d envisioned my glorious fishing career progressing.

I had to do something. Passively waiting to become shark chow was not an appealing strategy. My only ‘weapon’ was the paddle. It was flimsy, made of soft driftwood, but it was all I had.

As the scarred shark made another slow pass, its fin brushing against the raft again, I reacted on pure adrenaline. With a yell that was probably more fear than aggression, I jabbed the paddle down into the water towards its snout.

I didn’t expect to hit it. I just wanted to scare it. But the end of the paddle connected with something solid. The shark flinched, a surprisingly violent thrash of its powerful body, and veered away. The other two, startled by the sudden commotion, also drew back a few feet.

<[Melee Weapon (Improvised Paddle, Desperate Flail)] Lv. 1! You have successfully poked a shark. It is unimpressed but momentarily surprised.>

It was a tiny reprieve, but a reprieve nonetheless. “Land, Sparky!” I gritted out, digging the paddle into the water with renewed, frantic energy. “We are going to land!”

My [Paddling] skill, or lack thereof, was an immediate and painful liability.

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