by Cube Kid
Who is he going to cheat?
What is he going to steal?
Why is his head so fuzzy?
And . . . what is that funky smell?
But everything changed.
Everyone realized some outsiders aren’t so bad. They might smell weird, but that’s just the stench of zombie, spider, and creeper guts. They often walk into the village covered in the stuff. In other words, some outsiders are really amazing warriors.
I still can’t believe how they handled those mobs. Steve took out a small army of zombies using TNT and an ender pearl.
Mike defeated a group of witches with little more than a bucket and a cow. That’s how real warriors do it.
Even Stump’s grandma was impressed. And you can’t impress her. You just can’t. On her eightieth birthday, Stump crafted the coolest cake ever for her. It had an enderman on it. His grandma really likes endermen, for some weird reason. When she saw the cake, though, all she said was that the enderman looked more like a cross between a squid and a bat.
Well, Stump’s crafting ability wasn’t so great back then. Which means, back then, my own crafting ability was even wor—um, never mind. I . . . forgot what I was about to say. Yeah. Don’t you hate it when that happens?
Anyway . . . What’s important here is Stump’s grandma was actually impressed when Steve blew up the zombies and Mike made the witches cry. Everyone was. After that, a lot of people began to think that warriors are pretty cool.
To give you an idea: Yesterday, a trader somehow recreated that special warrior scent, with something called “cologne.” He put up advertisements all over the village:
Yeah.
Today, that trader sold out. Can you believe it? Even my dad bought a bottle.
All of a sudden, it’s fashionable to smell like fermented slime. What that means is more students are going to try their best to become warriors now. So I have way more competition. How annoying. My chances were low before, but now, they’re pretty much zero. Or maybe they always were zero. After all, the mayor said . . . He said . . .
He didn’t even try to sugarcoat things. If he had, he might have said something like, “You need to improve, sure, but maybe you will achieve your dream someday.”
Nope. There was no sugarcoating of any kind—just the dry, crusty truth. He’s right, too. The most warrior-like thing I’ve done is kick a baby slime through a window, and I was scared even then. Even though I’ve worked so hard, it just doesn’t matter. Maybe some people are born to be great. Like Max. He’s kept ahead of me in levels this whole time, and he probably hasn’t worked and studied half as hard as I have.
It’s not fair, you know?
So that’s it. From now on, I’m just going to focus on being a lumberjack or something. It’s a much more realistic goal. That means, I’ll no longer be writing in this diary. There’s simply no more story to tell. It’s not like a fairy tale where everything magically works out in the end.
I failed, and that’s that. Good-bye, diary. It’s been fun . . .
As if!
Did you really think I’d just give up like that? Or listen to what the mayor said? You should know me by now, unless you’ve just been looking at the pictures this whole time. (I can’t imagine why you’d do such a thing, though. My artwork is super terrible.)
Anyway, this isn’t the end. The mayor is just another person I’m going to prove wrong. I don’t care about what he said. What does he know about combat, anyway? No matter what, as long as I finish in the top five, I can choose whatever profession I want.
Some day, the mayor’s going to be saying something like: “You? A noob? Did I really say something so foolish? No, I always knew you were going to be the best, Sir Runt! Please forgive me, sir! Let me polish your sword for you!”
From here on out, it’s nothing but studying. No more helping Steve. No more snooping around. Just studying. And hey, if I really do fail, well . . . maybe I can try to become a perfume salesman like that other guy. Honestly, that sounds interesting.
Hurrrrr.
I guess it’s time to go to the mayor’s house.
For that “secret meeting” he was talking about.
I’ll update afterward.
It’s going to be a special update.
If you are a mob and somehow stole this diary, just know that Steve will hunt you down. The only way to avoid a super painful death (involving cactus and/or lava) is to return this diary immediately.
If you’re a villager, then shame on you for stealing my diary. Also, reading this section is super against the law—not just against the law, but super against the law. Those were the mayor’s words (although I added the “super” part to make it sound more awesome and scary). For anyone else, you’re probably reading a copy of my diary. That’s cool, but just keep the following information to yourself, huh? And, if you’re friends with any mobs . . . don’t tell them anything.
The warning is now over. You don’t have to be scared anymore. If you started crying reading this, I’m sorry . . .
So I headed over to the mayor’s house. I didn’t want to, but his house always has a lot of food lying around. And basically, he told us stuff. Secret stuff. Stuff only the elders know. It didn’t start off well, though. I did something really embarrassing.
1) Steve, Mike, and I sat down at the mayor’s dining room table.
2) The mayor looked more gloomy than usual.
3) See the cookie on the table? I ate it. I was hungry, okay? And thought it’d be a good idea. It wasn’t a good idea.
4) No one spoke for a little bit. It was very quiet. So when I chewed the cookie, the crunching sounds were loud. I guess everyone could hear it. It was awkward. I stopped chewing. The half-eaten cookie was just sitting in my mouth.
5) The mayor asked me a question. It was something boring like “How are you?” I couldn’t respond because I had a cookie in my mouth. But I had to say something, so I tried swallowing the cookie, ended up choking, and spit crumbs all over the mayor’s tableThankfully, everyone ignored this. They acted like nothing happened.
Still, there’s some bad news. My diary was on the table when it happened. Open. Soggy crumbs flew all over the pages. I cleaned it up as best I could, but I probably missed a few crumbs. If you come across any chocolate smears, now you know why. My apologies.
Okay, let’s focus on the meeting.
You may not fully understand the things the mayor told us. If you don’t, that’s cool, because I don’t either.
First, the mayor said, “Runt, I often see you writing in that little diary of yours.”
“Yes,” I mumbled. I was still angry at him, and embarrassed about the cookie thing.
“From now on,” he said, “I want you to write down everything that goes on in this village.”
“Urrrrrrr . . . that’s . . . what I’ve been doing.”
“Oh, okay. Excellent. Excellent. We’ll have a record, then, in case our village ever gets utterly destroyed.”
Hurrrrrrr?
Our village? Destroyed? What was he saying?
Mike spoke up. “Um, what’s this all about?”
The mayor stirred in his “chair” (it was really just some upside-down stairs, of course). “From what I understand,” he said, “you two come from a place called Earth, correct?”
The two warriors nodded.
“And you play something called Minecraft,” the mayor said. “A . . . computer game.”
Again, more nods. Their faces were showing a bit of confusion by now.
“So what?” said Mike. “We’re trapped in the game, right?”
“No, no.” The mayor chuckled. “It’s not like that at all.”
Mike shrugged. “I read about people getting sucked into the game, so I just thought, maybe . . .”
“It’s not possible,” St
eve said. “There’s just no way to get stuck in a computer game.”
“Whatever,” Mike said. “I don’t know. Besides, I’d rather believe we’re trapped in the game than . . . the alternative . . .”
(Naturally, I had no idea what they were talking about. I just sat there and listened, and tried to understand as best as I could.)
“This is a real world,” the mayor said. “Believe it.” He paused for a moment. “I understand computer games in your world depict imaginary places. Fantasy lands. However, Minecraft is very different. Minecraft is a crude simulation of this real world, Minecraftia.”
The warriors glanced at each other, then back at the mayor.
The mayor continued. “Minecraft is a test,” he said. “Its purpose is to find those with real talent. In short, due to your abilities, you’ve been recruited and sent to this world. The one behind all of this is a wizard named Notch.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Steve. “Notch?”
Mike almost laughed. “You’re telling me . . . this world is real? And Notch is a wizard? From this world? Can I wake up now?”
The mayor shot up from his “chair.” He pounded the table with his fist. Cookie crumbs bounced.
“This is no laughing matter!” he boomed, and in a lower voice, said, “I’ll admit, I didn’t believe it myself. Still, after watching you two fight, I realize now that it’s true. So listen. Right now, the forces of Herobrine are—”
“Herobrine?!”
“Herobrine?!”
Steve and Mike nearly jumped out of their chairs.
“Silence!” The mayor pounded the table again. “Look, we need your help. You Earthlings obviously know how to fight, so I hope you’ll teach the students everything you can. Herobrine has been teaching all the mobs, showing them how to work together. The mobs have Herobrine . . . and now, we have you.”
(So that explains why the mobs have been getting smarter. Who is this Herobrine, though? I’d never heard that name until today.)
“Of course, Notch sent others,” the mayor said. “Out there, in the wilderness, are many more just like you two. However, they still seem to think they’re in the original game. So they’ve done nothing but harass us and steal from us. They won’t even talk. Maybe they’ll listen to you though. Whenever you encounter them, I’d like you to spread the word.” The mayor was referring here to the trolls, noobs, and griefers who have been causing trouble in our village.
(So maybe that explains why they treat us so poorly. They think they’re in the original game. To them, we villagers are just . . . um . . . game characters, without feelings.)
There was a long silence.
“How can we go back?” asked Steve at last. “Do you know anything about that?”
The mayor shook his head. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “I don’t know anything. I’ll try to find out for you. I will say that Notch is a great man to send you here. That’s all for now. Good night.”
* * *
Outside the mayor’s house, Steve and Mike started talking. I really didn’t understand anything they said.
another dimension . . .
parallel universe . . .
alternate reality . . .
blah, blah, blah.
It made computers sound simple. Also, I have no idea who Herobrine is, but Steve and Mike seemed pretty freaked out just hearing his name. And that name does sound a little scary.
Again, I began to question my decision to become a warrior. Maybe being a lumberjack isn’t such a bad idea.
I mean, how could I fail at being a lumberjack? Trees don’t move. Or bite you. Or spit fireballs. Or sneak up on you and hiss and blow up half your house when you’re least expecting it.
Basically, tonight, I learned:
1) The outsiders were sent here by a wizard named Notch.
2) Some bad guy named Herobrine is the reason the mobs are getting smarter.
3) When you’re in a quiet place with other people, don’t eat something crunchy.
Just don’t.
Today, Steve and Mike taught the Intro to Combat class.
As I originally assumed, the teachers split the huge 150-student class into two 75-student classes. Stump and I are in Steve’s class.
Steve went over the basics, and I mean the real basics, like how to position yourself properly in combat and how many swings it takes to kill a spider with a wooden sword.
Still, Steve’s mind was wandering all day. Sometimes, he would just stop talking in the middle of a sentence:
Steve was obviously thinking about what the mayor said last night. I forgive him because my combat score went up 7% today. I’m all the way up to level 26!!!
In other news, a lot of kids asked me about building.
“Runt, can you give me tips on raising my building score?”
“Hey, will you teach me after class?”
“How much do you charge? I heard one emerald per hour?”
It was amusing, at first, but now it’s just annoying. And that girl Sara . . . she’s way more friendly to me, recently, than she used to be. What, all I have to do is ace a building exam and suddenly people like me more? Why? I don’t get it.
Max is still as annoying as ever, though. He had to remind me of what the mayor said at least once:
“How’s it going, noob? By the way, is that an official profession in our village? Noob?”
And then: “Actually, Runt, after seeing you take care of Steve, I’d say you’re more like a nanny.”
Which led to: “Head Nanny Runt, I’m just wondering how I’m doing. I’ve swept the school floor. I’ve scrubbed it and mopped it and even polished it with a slime ball. I hope to become an awesome nanny like you. Please tell me how I’m doing.”
It’s only going to get worse, too.
Once Max learns the mayor asked about my diary, he’s going to explode. I’m assuming he’ll try something like putting boogers in my diary . . . (He did that to Stump’s record book the other day.)
This morning, while Stump and I walked to school, we saw an outsider. A warrior, I guess. Stump tried talking to him. All we could get out of him before he took off was that his name was Joe.
He probably didn’t have much to say anyway. He looked like a warrior, but he was probably a bad one. I mean, gold armor is for noobs. Both its durability and protection are terrible.
Well, after school, we saw Joe again.
At first, Stump and I just ignored him while he walked down the gravel road. Then an idea hit me so hard, it was like an arrow shot from a bow enchanted with Punch II. I was literally knocked back by the awesomeness of it. I thought of a way to raise my level.
This warrior-noob, Joe, could actually be useful.
You see, trading is a factor in our student levels. It’s one of our scores. It’s my worst. So if we could make a successful trade with Joe, our trading scores and levels would go up. I explained this to Stump. Then we ran to my house and rummaged through my item chest for some random item we didn’t need. We found a pair of leather boots in good condition.
Then we ran back to the noob.
That was it—just “no.”
Not “I’m sorry, but I don’t need them,” or “some other time, maybe,” or even a somewhat courteous “no thanks.” Just “no.”
Then he walked away!!!
Stump sighed, said he had to get back home and do his homework, and took off as well. I realized that trading wasn’t as easy as I’d thought. Whatever. I still had faith in my idea. I wasn’t giving up just yet. However, I needed a strategy.
I thought for a moment, then caught up to that outsider noob, and said:
Man, this guy . . . Didn’t he know that these are good leather boots?
I guess he just wanted to show off.
&nbs
p; Soon, I thought of another way.
Hurrrrr. So brute force didn’t work.
Clearly, I needed to try something else.
Another idea hit me.
No! No way!
I wasn’t going to go away until this cheapskate coughed up at least two emeralds, maybe three. Joe strolled off along the gravel path. My mind was racing.
“Imagine this,” I said, running after him. “What if—”
“Imagine me walking away,” Joe said, interrupting my sales pitch. “Wait! Don’t imagine!”
I grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Listen,” I said. “Do you see those plains?”
Joe stopped walking, and gave me a blank look.
“Yeah.”
“Do you know what’s beyond those plains?”
“No.”
“A desert,” I said. “A huge one. Hot. Dry. No water for at least 3,000 blocks.”
“So?”
“So what if you’re walking in that desert some day, and your boots give out? What will you do then?”
He paused for a second.
“Um . . . I’ll craft new ones?”
“And what if you don’t have a crafting table on you?” I asked.
