Diary of an 8-Bit Warrior: From Seeds to Swords (Book 2 8-Bit Warrior series): An Unofficial Minecraft Adventure Read online

  Once, Steven and two friends bought a cake together. The cake cost six emeralds and was cut into six slices. That meant each person had to pay two emeralds. However, one of Steven’s cake slices was slightly smaller than the rest, so he argued that he should have to pay only 1.75 emeralds instead.

  In this one, the Steve look-alike is named “Steven.” Coincidence? I don’t think so.

  At this point, the elder stopped trying to disguise his obvious jealousy:

  In other words, Steven was stingy. A cheapskate. A miser. The Scrooge McDuck of Minecraftia. Minus the huge pile of gold, the black top hat, and the general appearance of a cranky, humanoid duck.

  Unfortunately for Steven, he began mining stone with the same miserly logic. Why build a pickaxe? He could just mine the stone with his bare hands. And so he did.

  “It’s been thirty minutes, but I’ve almost mined this stone block! Boom! Got it! Wait, what?! Where’s my cobblestone?!”

  We get it, Urf. You’re angry at Steve

  for taking your job.

  Golden Rule #22

  Your fishing pole has secret uses.

  Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, oh, yes, very far indeed—approximately 18,972 blocks—Bob liked fishing.

  Bob really liked fishing.

  Bob really, really, really, really (really really really really really really really really really) liked fishing.

  Bob was so crazy about fishing he even tried to fish in the Nether.

  There were lava lakes, so why not? Maybe the Nether had some kind of fiery fish monster. Who knows? Bob sure didn’t know!

  Because Bob was just that crazy.

  It was a

  secret technique!

  Bob didn’t know much of anything. But he did know he really loved fishing. Even if he knew for a fact that there weren’t any fish in those lava lakes, he’d fish in them anyway, because Bob was just that crazy.

  Well, Bob fished and fished, without any luck.

  He was so sad he tried reeling in a ghast just so he could say he caught something.

  It seemed like a good idea. Once he reeled in the ghast, he could chop it with his sword.

  Right. A secret technique. When the ghast was only two blocks away, it spit a fireball at Bob that Bob couldn’t dodge. Bob made farting/gurgling sounds as he melted into goo.

  THE END.

  Seriously,

  this is the level of advice

  Urf’s book contains.

  Golden Rule #31 was the worst, though.

  Golden Rule #31

  Lily pad

  There wasn’t a fairy tale with this one. No text at all, in fact.

  Just a picture of a lily pad.

  I’m . . . not sure what to make of it.

  Today wasn’t all bad, though. In combat class, Steve showed us how to never fall off a ladder. He said it’s possible to dig straight down using this method. You’ll never fall off. All you have to do is crouch while holding onto the ladder.

  Today was bad.

  Really bad.

  After Crafting Basics, I saw Pebble and Max talking in the hall. At some point, Pebble took Max’s record book, tore it into pieces, and threw the pieces on the ground.

  “I thought you were the top student,” Pebble said to Max, “the best of the best. What happened there, ace?”

  Pebble’s friends Sap and Donkey stepped on the fragments of Max’s record books.

  All three of them are high-level students, just under Max and me. They’re all very skilled in combat and mining.

  Strangely, Max didn’t respond.

  He simply stood there, seemingly calm.

  “Aren’t you gonna say something?” asked Pebble.

  Donkey snickered.

  “Too bad about your record book. Maybe you can tell a story about it.”

  I watched the whole thing in disbelief. For the longest time, I had considered Max a bully—but these guys were, like, super bullies.

  I hadn’t even noticed them before, but now they were acting like total punks.

  It’s just like Max said. They know graduation is coming soon and want to finish in the top five. The competition this year is getting really insane . . .

  Pebble rammed his shoulder into Max and said something. He kept his voice low. I had to strain to hear it:

  “Better not participate in the next mining test, ace,” Pebble said. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Max still said nothing, looking down at the pieces of his record book. I had to step up and say something.

  I walked up next to Max and nudged him with my elbow. “You know, the elders said the rising ocean levels were due to the melting ice plains biomes. But as it turns out, it was because of Pebble’s river of tears after he bombed the last test.”

  Pebble’s face momentarily resembled a creeper’s.

  Yeah. Saying that was a bad idea.

  “Well, look at that,” he said. “Just who I wanted to see next!”

  Sap and Donkey sprinted over to me, lifted me up by the robes, and took my record book out.

  Pebble grabbed it and tore it into tiny little pieces.

  It happened so fast!

  It was as if part of my body had been torn up. I’ll admit I nearly cried staring down at my shattered record book. All that hard work . . . Gone. (At least, until I coughed up the emeralds for a new one. Those punks.)

  The three laughed and walked off.

  * * *

  I glanced down at the purple fragments.

  The pieces crumbled into bright violet dust—the magical energy of the book’s enchantment. The dust soon faded away . . .

  I approached Max. He was picking up the pieces of his own book. Not that it mattered. The book was no longer functioning.

  “So you were telling the truth,” I said. “Those guys really have it out for us.”

  “Yeah. Told you this is bad.”

  “So, what are you gonna do?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “What about our record books? We can get new ones. Let’s go to the head teacher and pay up. Tomorrow, we’ll flash them in Pebble’s face and thank him for making us get new, shiny record books. And then we can argue with each other about how low our scores are.”

  Max shook his head. “Didn’t you hear? They raised the price on them. They’re fifty emeralds now. Why do you think those guys did that?”

  What?!

  Fifty emeralds?!

  Wow, I thought, this is bad.

  Where am I gonna get fifty emeralds?

  “What about your parents?” I asked. “I thought your family was wealthy. Say, can I . . . get a loan?”

  “Sorry, Runt, but after the pickaxe incident, they cut me off. I’m broke. They aren’t even giving me lunch emeralds. Razberry’s been sharing his with me.”

  “We’ve gotta get back at them,” I said.

  “No, I think I’m out.” Max slipped the pieces of his record book into a pocket of his robe.

  “I’m just gonna tread water from now on. After all, I wanted to be a librarian, remember? Striving to be a warrior . . . honestly, it’s not worth dying over. Didn’t you hear what he said about the mining test? Pebble’s father is gonna rig the test somehow.”

  “How would his father manage to rig the test like that, though?”

  Max gave me that cold look again.

  “You really don’t get it, buddy boy. Pebble’s family goes way back. They’ve got connections. His father is best friends with the mayor and most of the elders. He’s also the head miner. So, when the school holds that mining test, who do you think the teachers are going to ask for advice?”

  “Pebble’s father.”

 
“Right. He’ll probably suggest an area with a lot of sand and gravel. A dangerous area. An area he knows. And he’ll fill Pebble in on where to go.”

  I recalled what Max had said earlier . . . Something about a cave-in.

  Gravel or sand from up above could come down and crush someone . . . Hurrrrrrg.

  Things were getting so serious.

  Bullies tearing up record books.

  Powerful families pulling strings behind the scenes.

  The mayor and the elders, who won’t tell us anything about the trees.

  The mobs, who never came back after Steve and Mike kicked their behinds. Suddenly, I opened my mouth . . . and said something I never thought I’d say.

  “Let’s work together.”

  It seemed my words shocked Max as much as they did me.

  He lowered his glasses.

  “W-what did you say?!”

  “You might’ve pulled a lot of pranks on me,” I said, “but those guys . . . if they become warriors, I’ll never feel safe. In some ways, they’re worse than the mobs! Anyway, it’s just like you said. If they’re out to get us, then we’ve gotta stick together.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “Yeah. But if you pull any tricks, Stump and I are gonna harass you until you’re rank 150. Got it?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “No tricks. I promise.”

  He paused, as if thinking about something, then said,

  “I have an idea.”

  “What idea, hurrrrr?”

  “I need some time. I’m still not sure how well it’ll work. Over the weekend, gather as much sand as you can. We’ll discuss it next Friday.”

  “Sand?”

  “Just trust me.”

  Hmm.

  Trusting Max . . . It seems difficult.

  But I suppose I need him.

  And then, he needs me, too.

  I needed to clear my head after yesterday. So this morning, I took off for the park. Alone. Yes, our village has a park. It’s pretty much like a forest near the middle of our village. People go there to relax, but it’s actually a tree farm so we can harvest wood safely without ever stepping outside the walls. There are also lots of flowers for dyes.

  An outsider noob came out here long ago, wanting to dye his armor red. But I guess this world is different from the game he used to play . . .

  because his armor turned pink instead.

  So there I was deep inside the park, enjoying the beautiful scenery.

  At one point, I had the urge to check my record book—an instinct by now—but it wasn’t there. Fifty emeralds . . . Would I ever be able to earn that many? Maybe I could sell Jello to some old rich guy who likes exotic pets . . . Then I had a weird feeling—you know, that creepy feeling, like you’re being watched? Yeah. That one.

  Moments later, I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. Like a shadow. So weird.

  It vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  Of course, I immediately thought of the “Village Creeper” that supposedly sneaks around in our village. Great. Things sure were getting better. Yesterday, I was mugged by a bunch of punks. Today, I was all alone in the park, with a creeper hunting me.

  Not good

  I heard the rustle of grass behind me. I whirled around . . . but there was nothing. Just the beautiful, flowery forest.

  Was I seeing things? Hearing things? Maybe I was too stressed out. I shook my head, rubbed my eyes. And when I reopened them . . . a girl was standing before me.

  I knew her. Breeze. She was a student. I’d seen her from time to time, although we didn’t have many of the same classes and she usually kept to herself. She was pretty shy. Even so, she was one of those students who asked me questions after I aced a building or trading test. She smiled. I couldn’t return the expression. Not today. What did she want, anyway? Why was she following me?

  Honestly, it was a little creepy.

  “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” she said. “What have you been up to?”

  Um . . . yeah. She was acting like we were old friends or something.

  “I’m busy,” I said.

  “You always say that,” she said, her voice cool. “Anyway, you don’t seem busy. Let’s hang out.”

  “No, thanks.”

  Her smile faded. “What happened? You seem so upset.”

  There was no way I was going to tell her about yesterday. I’d only talked to her a few times before, and it was mostly just stuff like, “I can’t teach you; uh, I’m sick tomorrow.”

  Then again, from what I know, she comes from a wealthy family, like Max.

  Her parents are miners. Supposedly, they once found a cave loaded with diamonds.

  I could have asked her for a loan, perhaps, but . . . no. I didn’t want to be in debt to a stranger.

  “I just wanna be left alone,” I said. “Okay? Is that possible?”

  She nodded and zoomed off into the trees. She ran so fast. In her black outfit, she looked like a blurred shadow. I thought I saw tears in the corners of her eyes. Or did I imagine that? What’s with that strange girl? I thought. Come to think of it, I’ve seen her a lot recently. At the blacksmith. Near the well. In the hallways at school. But always from a distance. Watching me. Seriously weird. Why was she following me like that?

  Whatever.

  I whipped out my shovel and within

  thirty minutes had gathered half a stack of sand.

  I had my Sunday all planned out.

  Step 1: Feed the slime.

  Step 2: Go bug Steve and Mike on their day off!

  I tossed Jello a bread loaf, grabbed my shovel, and ran out the door. (Hopefully, my parents wouldn’t discover my new pet.)

  Within minutes, I was at Steve’s house. He and Mike were both there. Mike was seated at the table, looking a little angry, or at least not happy.

  Steve was hunched over a furnace, his face blank, as if he was thinking very hard about something.

  I decided to break the silence with a friendly greeting:

  “Hey, guys. How’s the forest?”

  Before, villagers often asked something like “How’s the weather?” but lately it’s “How’s the forest?” Meaning that weird forest in the east. Now, I didn’t ask this to try to get Mike and Steve to tell me about their secret. It was just a greeting, I swear! But the two outsiders glared at me.

  “We still can’t tell you anything,” Mike said. “So stop asking, buddy boy.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I have a secret of my own.”

  Steve looked up from the furnace.

  “What secret?”

  “Ohhhhhhh nothing. But I bet it’s more interesting than a bunch of trees.”

  Mike smirked.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Suddenly, Steve pounded the furnace with his fist.

  “I can’t stop thinking about pizza! Pepperoni. Cheese. Oh, I’d give anything for some black olives!”

  “I’m not a fan of olives, myself,” said Mike.

  I stared at both of them.

  “What are you guys talking about, hurrrr?”

  Mike gave me a pitying look, as if I wouldn’t understand a thing, even if he explained. Steve ignored me. There was a feverish gleam in his eyes.

  “Those mobs, they’re so smart,” he said. “This is how they get you . . . they made us afraid . . . holed us up in this village . . . limited our food supply . . .”

  There was an awkward silence, then Steve spoke up again.

  “Every day it’s bread, bread, bread . . . and if you’re lucky, steak and potatoes. I’m sick of it!”

  “I’m sick of you talking about it,” Mike said.

  Steve stepped over to the
crafting table. A huge amount of food items had been piled onto that massive chunk of wood.

  “Pizza,” he said. “What about pizza? Is it possible? Maybe if we just arrange these bread loaves like so . . .”

  Mike rolled his eyes.

  “Dude. No tomatoes. No tomato sauce.”

  “Burritos?”

  “No flour. No tortillas.”

  As they talked—naming an exhaustive list of foods I’d never heard of—I said nothing, totally confused.

  “How about an omelet?” Steve asked. “We’ve got eggs! We’ve got mushrooms!”

  Mike closed his eyes this time.

  “Again, I’ve already tried that, man. Every possible configuration. Eggs with more eggs. Eggs with milk. Eggs with mushrooms. Even eggs with a potato.”

  Steve gasped. “Omelets with diced potato chunks?! Who does that?! Wait, what am I saying?! I’d settle for that!”

  “You’re really freaking out, dude. Chill.”

  “How about cheese?”

  “Nope.”

  “Butter?”

  “Went through five buckets of milk trying to figure that one out.”

  The desperation in Steve’s voice was heavy as he said, “Apple . . . pie?”

  Mike shrugged. “It should be possible, considering the fact that this world has apples, pumpkins, and pumpkin pie. However . . .”