by Cube Kid
Several zombies went for her then—Steve once said they can sense weakness—and that was when I lost it. I glanced to the right and shouted:
“What are you doing?! Get back!!”
She tumbled back before the zombies closed in and hid in an alley. Since I was distracted, a zombie nearly struck me. Claws swiped inches from my face. I dashed back and shook my head.
What is this?
I was thinking about her safety before my own.
Am I starting to care about her or something?
Near the end of the battle, I noticed something strange. I spotted Brio—the guy in all black, with the black sunglasses.
He was in a church tower, far in the distance.
He was . . . observing us. Watching us fight for our lives. Of course, with all the zombies running around, I wasn’t able to keep my eyes on him for very long. A few minutes later, I spotted him again, on top of the same tower. He jumped down onto the roof of an armory and then into a street, where he slowly walked away. It gets weirder.
He went in a direction that was, to my knowledge, totally overrun with mobs. A bunch of kids had fled from that area minutes earlier and had warned us not to go there. It must have been bad in there, because their faces were so white, as if they’d seen a ghast.
Yet I watched as a distant Brio calmly strode toward that place, seemingly unafraid—and without any weapons—until he vanished behind a house.
Seriously weird.
What was he doing? Where was he going? I was so curious I almost went in there after him. But then I turned back to the battle as a few shouts rose up over the chaos:
“Hey! Look!”
“The mobs are breaking formation!”
Drill started screaming at the top of his lungs.
“ALL IN!! NO MERCY!!”
Everyone else screamed just as loudly.
“CHARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGE!!”
A wave of angry villagers,
led by an even angrier combat teacher,
rushed after a fleeing enemy.
Twenty minutes later, the mobs were totally wiped out.
An eerie silence swept through the streets. Stump sat down and offered me some bread. It was enough to refill my life bar.
“Thanks,” I said, glancing at him. “You know, you were amazing back there.”
He shrugged.
“I’m just glad Urkk didn’t show up.”
“Right.”
Just then, Steve walked around a corner—shambled, really. He was covered in slime and dust, his leather armor hung in tatters, and he was moving slower than a zombie over soul sand—soul sand with cobwebs placed on top and ice blocks underneath. With a sigh, he tossed his iron sword onto the cobblestone street.
“I’m so done with these mobs.”
I rose up.
“Where were you?”
“At the square,” he said. “They almost pushed through Sunset Lane. You wouldn’t believe how many.” He slid down a wall, eyes closed. “Looks like they were trying to take the school.”
The school?
That didn’t make sense to me. Why not the city hall, or the farms, or the storerooms? But I didn’t ask any more questions. We were too tired to even talk.
The silence was interrupted as a chorus of shouts and cheers gradually grew louder. At first, I assumed some villagers, and perhaps the mayor, were coming to congratulate us on our victory . . . until I realized what they were shouting. Actually, they were chanting. A single word—or rather, a single name.
“. . . Peh-bull!! Peh-bull!! Peh-bull!! Peh-bull! Peh-bull!! . . .”
About one hundred people then came into view. They were hoisting Pebble up over their heads, carrying him down the road, along with that girl Emerald.
. . .
There was a wooden clatter as
I threw my own sword onto the street.
By Sunday morning, posters like this were all you could see:
Pebble the war hero. The poster boy of the war on mobs. He had apparently killed a total of fifteen zombies, eight skeletons, five creepers, two spiders, an enderman, and a chicken (the chicken was an accident, or so he says).
An impressive number, more than my own, and backed by praise from the mayor, who’d seen it all happen. That girl Emerald was praised even more, probably because it isn’t everyday that you see a horde of zombies taken down by a girl in a light pink robe. What can I say? The right place at the right time and all that.
In the afternoon, there was a ceremony to congratulate all those who had risen up to defend the village during the horrible attack.
My friends and I were included in the praise, of course, but the two “heroes” stole the show. I’m not bitter about that, however. What burns me is how Pebble and Emerald were awarded special cloaks. Honestly, they’re the coolest cloaks I’ve ever seen, and they’re enchanted on top of that, granting protection from fire.
Everyone else who took part in the battle was given a cloak, but these items were trash-tier—the kind of item only a noob would get worked up about.
When I tried mine on, Steve said it could have been a “bib” . . . whatever that is. When I asked him, he said he didn’t want to tell me, because I’ve already been humiliated enough today.
On top of that, Pebble is now rank one, and Emerald is rank two . . . Meaning, Max is third and I’m fourth. Maybe. No one has discovered the identity of that other high-ranked student, so who knows. Why can’t the teachers just come out with an official ranking system instead of forcing us to guess and peek at one another’s record books?
In other news, we told the mayor about Urkk. Here’s the thing, though. He asked how we knew about Urkk.
None of us wanted to get in trouble by admitting we had left the village at night, so we just said we had seen Urkk while we were standing on the wall at night.
“Probably just a cow,” the mayor said. “They get pretty big in these parts.” He sighed. “Urkk is a legend, boys. Nothing more. Mobs like that simply don’t exist anymore.”
Why did I even try?
(Insert something about the mayor being a noob here.)
I’m so tired of this kind of stuff; I’m currently lacking the energy to even come up with a good way to insult him. I’ll come back to this entry later and fill it in . . .
Lastly,
I’m a little shy to ask, but . . .
what do you think of
my cloak?
It looks crooked because it keeps bunching up on the left side and no matter what I do, I can’t fix it.
What’s that? You said it looks cool?
Okay. Thanks.
I’ll keep wearing it, then.
(By the way, what’s a bib?)
There was no school today. Due to the attack, the mayor thought it would be a good time to establish village “building codes.” The building codes include various anti-mob upgrades. The mayor encouraged every family to add these upgrades to their homes.
Of course, since it’s not yet required to do this, most families didn’t bother . . . but if you recall how I had to walk Fluffles during the creeper scare, then you know my mom.
Besides, after hearing anti-mob upgrades, I envisioned lava moats, piston traps—you know, crazy stuff like that.
Yeah.
Right.
In reality, upgrading our house involved tearing up the wooden planks that served as the floor and replacing them with cobblestone slabs.
Then I had to dig up dirt in a five-block radius around the house and put slabs there.
“Slabs are resistant to explosions,” page seven of the building code manual states. “Slabs are heavy and annoying to properly place,” says twelve-year-old villager Runt.
A house should have eaves so spiders can’t
climb onto the ceiling.
A fence should be made out of cobblestone to resist fire and explosions.
And then, building code A7F states that a door should be iron and activated with a button placed above, not a pressure plate, so that mobs can’t open the door.
As if mobs can’t press buttons.
That’s how ridiculous the mayor is, you know?
Doesn’t he understand how smart the mobs are?
The mobs are brilliant. Astoundingly, preposterously, ridiculously, improbably, absurdly, fantastically, wonderfully, unbelievably, amazingly, impossibly, astonishingly brilliant. If the mobs can come up with such tactics as zombie sandwiches, then surely they can press a button with a finger. And if they don’t have fingers, then they’ll just jump up and headbutt the buttons.
And if they don’t have heads, well, I’m not sure what they’ll do, but I’m willing to put one hundred emeralds on them figuring it out somehow.
There is one more thing I didn’t like about all this additional iron and stone. After I performed all the necessary upgrades, our house looked . . . colorless. Emotionless. Devoid of warmth and feeling.
Gray walls.
Gray floors.
Gray fence.
Gray doors.
I’d include a picture of our new house, but honestly, it’s extremely depressing. You’d probably start crying.
Even Steve commented on this. “If every house ends up like yours, this village will be straight out of a dystopian film.”
Dystopian?
I didn’t know what that meant, but by the look on his face, I knew it wasn’t a good thing.
Also . . . Pebble drew on my cloak with red dye.
After school, Brio kidnapped me again. As before, the special building was full of guys in black robes. And as before, Brio offered me a wide variety of snacks after we sat down in a small cobblestone room. In fact, he was generally pleasant and happy, until:
“By the way, Runt . . . have you seen any slimes?”
I began to sweat profusely.
“Er, once,” I said. “The slime incident. If you remember.”
“I mean recently.”
“N-no, of course not.”
“Well, we’ve managed to re-create the potion you made earlier,” he said. “It’s called a Rocket Potion. Interestingly, the key ingredient—that is, the extra ingredient used to augment a Potion of Leaping—is fermented glowstone. This is made by combining regular glowstone with a slimeball.”
Of course. I can’t remember how long it’s been, but one day, I came home from school completely exhausted. The brewing teacher had given us some supplies—including glowstone—for us to do our homework with. But I was so tired I put the glowstone into the wrong chest in my bedroom. Perhaps my pet slime tried eating the glowstone, then spit it out?
As I thought about this, awkward silence filled the room. My mind raced as I considered what I could possibly say to Brio. Finally, I offered a carefully crafted response:
“Oh.”
To be fair, it was a bubbly sounding “oh.” Naive. Innocent. Full of innocence. The most innocent “oh” that ever was. After hearing that “oh,” there should have been no doubt in anyone’s mind that the only slime I’d seen in the past year was the stuff the school serves for lunch on Thursdays.
Brio removed his sunglasses. Slowly. Set them down upon the table in a gentle way. However, there was nothing gentle about his expression. Or the quiet tone of his voice:
“We . . . are . . . at war . . . if we are not careful, the mobs will destroy us . . . do you . . . understand?”
I held the sides of my seat. Arms locked straight. An effort to either hold myself upright or keep myself from shaking too much.
“Yes.”
“Good. So, if you’re harboring a mob . . . even something so innocent as, say, a baby slime . . . you will report it. Immediately.”
Wow. What a tough decision. What was he saying, anyway? That Jello could be a spy? No, I just couldn’t believe it. Jello is a nice slime. A true gentleman, remember? In fact, someday, he’s going to run for president. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.
I didn’t want to betray my village—but at the same time, I didn’t want to turn in my pet, either. Besides, I felt my pet slime had a purpose . . . and it wasn’t providing other mobs with information.
“Sir,” I said, “I do not have any mobs in my possession.”
Brio glanced down at the table, hands together, perhaps considering my words. When he spoke again, it was in his usual, cheery tone:
“Very well. That’s good news. And there’s more good news. Since you are directly responsible for the discovery of that potion recipe, you will be rewarded. Expect a payment of fifty emeralds. Within a few days.”
More awkward silence, until:
“Brio? Can I ask what you were doing out there?”
“Out where?”
“During the battle on Saturday.”
“You are dismissed.”
Brio rose up from his chair. I did the same.
“Oh, and look out for anything strange,” he said. “We have reason to believe there’s a spy in the village.”
“A spy?”
“Yes. You see, our data indicates the mobs wanted to destroy the school. How else could they have known where the school was located? Surely there must be a spy hiding somewhere within the periphery of the village. Or, possibly, a traitor. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
I bowed before him and took off out of that place (grabbing a few cookies as I did).
As I ran back home, my mind was racing.
A spy in our village. A traitor.
Is it Jello? No, how can he spy on anything? All he does is eat bread. He never even leaves his box!
What about Breeze? She’s very weird, after all.
Hurrrmm . . .
After I got back to my house, I went into my bedroom and opened the chest. Jello was there, sleeping. He woke up moments later and began hopping around.
I picked him up.
“You’re not a spy, are you, Jello?”
I petted his flat head.
“No, of course not. You’re a good boy.”
I’ve been mentioning my school for weeks but I’ve never shown it. I suppose now would be a good time. After all, if the mobs really do want to destroy it, then I should make a few pictures while I still can.
And so, say hello to the Villager School of Minecraft and Warriory. (Steve said warriory isn’t an actual word. Yeah, Steve, I get it: our vocabulary is different from yours on Earth.)
By the way, an incident occurred in the combat yard today. Drill was screaming at Max, so Max put a sign up on one of the dummies.
Ten minutes later, Drill came over, wondering why so many students were attacking the same dummy.
Anyone who attacked that sign had to do two hundred laps. By the time we finished running, lunch was already over. Still, the look on Drill’s face when he saw that sign was priceless. I’d give up ten lunches to see that again.
Obviously, the school hasn’t seen the necessary safety upgrades yet. Glass windows for walls probably aren’t the safest way to guard against zombies. Just a guess, though.
You’re probably wondering how 150 students manage to sit down in this place. They don’t. The food here makes mushroom stew look tasty.
And this is why I always
bring my own lunch.
See that green potato? That’s a fermented potato. It’s a village specialty. Made using a secret crafting recipe. Most adults consider it a delicacy, and it’s supposed to be healthy. That’s why it’s on the menu, I guess.
By the way, I wasn’t joking about the slime they serve on Thursdays. It’s that bowl of green stew o
n the right. It isn’t really slime, of course, although it looks just like it. Grass stew. Another villager “delicacy.” My grandfather loves the stuff.
Okay, I’m just gonna rush through the rest of the tour because it’s not very interesting, and honestly, I’m getting a bit hungry.
I’ve never been to the second and third floors. I think the teachers do weird experiments up there.
The fountain. The mayor ordered its construction years ago. After it was built, that old blacksmith, Leaf, took off his shoes and began washing his feet. Many people have avoided its waters since.
The square’s food stand. My favorite stand. Obviously. If I had saved up all my emeralds instead of buying junk food at this place, I’d probably have enough for a full set of diamond armor by now. Kids who forgot to bring their own lunch and can’t stomach grass stew go here.
The stand that shall not be mentioned—although I will say the roof, made out of acacia and birch to resemble a giant red mushroom, is kinda neat.
That was a ton of pictures. Sorry. Wait, what am I apologizing for?! It took me forever to draw those pictures!
Anyway, there you have it. To be honest, that was only about half the places I could have shown you, but I didn’t want you to fall asleep.
Oh. I received that payment from Brio. So I went shopping today and ended up buying a full set of leather armor (except for a helmet) along with an iron sword and two enchanted books.
