Diary of an 8-Bit Warrior: Crafting Alliances: An Unofficial Minecraft Adventure Read online

  This edition © 2017 by Andrews McMeel Publishing.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.

  Published in French under the title Journal d’un Noob (Mega Guerrier) Tome III

  © 2016 by 404 éditions, an imprint of Édi8, Paris, France

  Text © 2015 by Cube Kid, Illustration © 2016 by Saboten

  Minecraft is a Notch Development AB registered trademark. This book is a work of fiction and not an official Minecraft product, nor approved by or associated with Mojang. The other names, characters, places, and plots are either imagined by the author or used fictitiously.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4494-8382-1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016948376

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  In memory of Lola Salines (1986-2015),

  founder of 404 éditions and editor of this series,

  who lost her life in the November 2015 attacks on Paris.

  Thank you for believing in me.

  - Cube Kid

  I woke up before the sun even rose and couldn’t fall back asleep.

  Of course, Mom and Dad didn’t have this problem. They’d been working the fields all week.

  Maybe that’s why they finally warmed up to the idea of me becoming a warrior.

  These days, they’re just too tired to argue.

  At least they decided to give me a bigger allowance.

  I recalled the conversation with Mom the other day:

  "Use these emeralds to enchant your robe with Frost Protection II, okay, honey? I don’t want you getting sick!"

  "I don’t think there is such an enchantment, but thanks anyway."

  "Okay, well, be sure to eat more steak! Cookies won’t keep your hunger bar up."

  "But cookies are tasty … "

  "And wear your leather armor underneath your robe today. If you fall again during training, your health bar won’t get so low."

  "Mom. Armor doesn’t protect against falling damage."

  "Oh. All right, dear."

  Jello was sound asleep as well. From inside his box, he made quiet little sounds—burble, burble—the baby slime equivalent of snoring. I put on my boots and grabbed my sword on my way out the door. It was still dark. But soon, as I made my way to school, the square sun crawled over the gloomy, gray houses and shed pink light upon the gloomy, gray streets. To a villager, this was a precious time. At this hour, the monsters were crawling back to a forest that never knew the sun. In their absence, a sleepy village was now rustling awake.

  * * *

  I went for a morning jog. I thought it’d help clear my mind. It didn’t.

  Five minutes in, my anger flared like a redstone torch … because I saw the posters. They’re everywhere, those posters.

  Pebble is on most of them …

  There were nearly as many posters with Emerald, Steve, Mike, the mayor … and even Urf. Urf!

  He took off on Sunday, from what I heard, carrying half a village supply room with him. He took two donkeys, each with chests, that he loaded up before stuffing his own pockets—all three inventories filled with stacks of iron, enchanted books …

  in short, our most valuable items.

  Definitely

  turned traitor

  Definitely sided with the mobs.

  And definitely offered them more than just piles of shiny loot. The right information can be worth more than diamonds, and that would explain how the mobs pinpointed our school so easily. He left a trail of items on his way out of town. The heaviest stuff. Weapons. Armor. He was most likely weighed down. He most likely wanted to escape quickly.

  Fear is stronger than greed.

  A few posters had the names of many who fought on Saturday. The posters didn’t have any pictures, but I’m including them in this diary. They fought just as hard as Pebble did, after all …

  Suddenly, a freezing wind picked up. I raised the collar on my robe. Then I glanced at the distant houses, wondering whether Breeze could be out there, somewhere, at this early hour …

  Who is she?

  Was she telling the truth?

  Did her father really send

  her to spy on me?

  When it comes to her, there’s only one thing I know for sure …

  I glanced down at my health bar, at the row of little red hearts, and remembered …

  I entered the school and walked empty halls. I checked every empty classroom. Surprisingly, one room was occupied. The head teacher’s office on the second floor. Professor … Brio?

  He smirked. "Morning."

  I nodded. "Morning."

  By the way, we weren’t exchanging greetings—we were stating a welcome fact. I sat down, either on some stairs or in a chair, depending on which universe you come from.

  "I take it you’re the head teacher now," I said.

  "Something like that." He adjusted his glasses—I caught a glimpse of his purple eyes. "I’ll be overseeing everyone’s progress from here on out. I suppose you could say it’s time to kick things up a … notch."

  He rose. "Come with me."

  I followed him to the tower—to the very top—where we looked out at the eastern wall.

  "I must say," Brio murmured, "I’m surprised they were able to rebuild that mushroom shop as well as they did." He turned to me.

  "I believe you caused more damage there than a wither blast."

  "Sorry. I just didn’t … "

  "You survived. You used what you had and survived. Honestly, I’m impressed. Of course, you couldn’t have done that without Breeze’s help. She saved you. Surely you’re wondering how she managed that."

  "Yes. How?"

  "Leaping IV, Swiftness II, Strength III, Stoneskin V. That last one costs a fortune to craft … and has a very bad taste from what I understand."

  I blinked. "Potions?"

  "Yes. She chugged so many she made herself sick. That’s why she’s staying home today. Her father insists."

  "So, that’s it, huh? … Potions."

  "You were expecting a more interesting explanation. Special powers. Magic, perhaps."

  "I guess so."

  "Cheer up, then. True magic does exist, beyond enchantments and potion effects … and someday, we will reclaim it."

  Reclaim … ? As in, get back? As in, we once had magic?! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Before I could ask, however, Brio continued: "By the way, I understand the pigman had a weapon that found its way into your inventory. I will take that from you now."

  "What? Why?"

  "You really need to ask?"

  "Whatever."
I handed him Urkk’s hook. "I was never that into fishing, anyway. Besides, knowing my luck, if I tried using that thing, I’d reel in a creeper by accident."

  Brio smirked again, stuffed the weapon into a pocket, and

  turned back to the streets below.

  "Beautiful, isn’t it? This is the last remaining village in all of eastern Minecraftia. For hundreds of thousands of blocks in every direction, nothing else remains."

  "Nothing?"

  He shook his head. "There are survivors, I’ve heard, scattered here and there. But they’re all hiding underground now. We are, perhaps, Minecraftia’s only hope."

  "… "

  "As the mobs evolve, so too must our village. We will fortify our walls. Upgrade our defenses. Create new weapons. Research more efficient farming methods. Push ourselves to the very limit. This is Minecraftia’s last stand against Herobrine."

  "… "

  He turned to me. "It’s going to be quite a show."

  Well, Brio wasn’t joking. Those strange men in black robes really did kick things up a notch. They were everywhere at school. They also carried sticks. No. Not carried. Wielded. And threateningly so.

  This one kid, Rock—he’s not a bad student: decent scores, knows how to use a sword. But he was hanging around in the hall for too long after Mob History II started, chatting with his friends. Well, one of those guys came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder with a stick. "What’s wrong with you, punk?" stick guy barked. "The mobs don’t goof off and skip class. The only thing they skip is lunch, so they can study even more!"

  "B-but … I’m n-not a m-mob—"

  "I’ll say! The mobs probably don’t talk back to their superiors!" He jabbed Rock with his stick. "This is your second offense! Don’t make a third!"

  We heard it all from inside the classroom. We soon found out what happens during a third offense.

  After Rock sat down, he started looking around, looking out the window, anywhere but at the teacher. Minutes later, two of those guys burst into the room, charged up, and pulled Rock out of his chair so fast they literally yanked him out of his boots.

  Suddenly, the teacher’s lecture on mob history became

  the most interesting thing

  in the universe.

  After seeing that, we took notes. We paid attention. We stared forward and nodded our heads enthusiastically. Anything to prevent a visit from them, who could be lurking anywhere out there in the hall.

  Mr. Beetroot, the history teacher, continued: "After several months of existing in the Overworld, a zombie will turn into a skeleton. The skeleton will grow smarter. The skeleton will run away if injured."

  Meanwhile, I thought: After thirty minutes of Mob History II, Runt will turn into a zombie. Runt will make moaning sounds. Runt will head toward the nearest door and break it down.

  Even Pebble wasn’t immune to their harassment anymore. After Mob History, he was chatting with Sara in the hall. Their backs were to Pebble’s locker.

  Brio, like a creeper who’d chugged an invisibility potion, crept up to the locker and looted it while the two of them talked.

  Pebble whirled around. "Hey! That’s my stuff, endernoob!"

  Brio smiled. "If by ‘hey’ you mean ‘sir,’ by ‘my’ you mean ‘your,’ and by ‘endernoob’ you mean ‘I really hope you enjoy those delicious steaks because you’re awesome and amazing,’ then yes, you are absolutely correct."

  "Um … what?"

  "First offense. Don’t be late again."

  Of course, come lunchtime, the first thing Pebble did was head to the cafeteria. Guess who was serving?

  If he was serving, the food might have actually been interesting.

  Steak wouldn’t have been on the menu, but anything a cow might have offered would have been infinitely better than what was available today.

  You see, some of Brio’s men were behind the counter, and they’d cooked up something extra special for all the kids on the "naughty students who must be punished" list.

  "No? Okay, then. How about some coarse dirt stew?

  A gravel sandwich? Cooked spider legs? Still no?

  Then why not skip to dessert?

  You can try a slice of our nice slime pie."

  Look, I get it. I understand what they’re doing. They’re toughening us up for when the real battles begin. They’re forcing us to pay attention. To remember everything. To never make mistakes. Someday, our lives will depend on it. I know that.

  But isn’t this going a little too far?

  The average age of a student is twelve, after all. Sure, we’re no longer a single block tall and golems no longer hand us poppies when they’re bored … but we’re still kids.

  Aren’t we?

  It didn’t get any easier for Pebble. During the daily running drill, they were screaming at him constantly. I will say, even though he’s a punk, he didn’t lose his cool. Even when Drill and two others were shouting at him at the same time. It seemed like his mind was elsewhere.

  The whole time we ran, Brio walked among us, arms crossed. His voice was raised in a dull monotone: "The mobs have retreated once again …

  "But they will return, and who knows what they’ll try next?

  "Becoming a good warrior is why you pay attention in class …

  "Defending your village is why you spend hours reading about mobs.

  "You swing swords at practice dummies so future generations can live in peace.

  "Someday, we’ll all live on a sandy beach …

  "We’ll eat cocoa beans.

  "We’ll drink watermelon juice.

  "We’ll work on our tans, which is something zombies can never do. Perhaps that’s why they dislike us so much."

  At first glance, one might think that this is perhaps a new type of slime mob.

  Nah. It’s just me, um … resting.

  Yeah. Resting.

  (Hey, at least I didn’t collapse facedown in some dirt.)

  It’s getting even more competitive at school too. In those brief moments when students could actually hang out between classes, everyone stood around in their little groups.

  Team Craft;

  Team Noob;

  Team All Girls;

  Team Redstone;

  Team Pebble (growing in number);

  Team Emerald (good friends with Team Pebble).

  And, of course, Team Runt, which everyone seems to be against lately.

  Why? What happened to kids asking me for building advice? What happened to the "green egg kid"? No one had even congratulated me on Saturday. I took down a big boss using a bigger mushroom, and there was almost no mention of it.

  In fact, I was walking down the hall with my friends today, and Ariel gave us what I call "the look."

  First, she glared at us. Tilted her head. Rolled her eyes. Moved her shoulders in a confrontational way. Then, she turned back to Emerald and Sara, said something, and glared at us again while Sara did the same. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t good.

  Other times, as I passed different groups of kids, I heard stuff like:

  "What’s his level now?"

  "I’m way better at farming than her."

  "She actually calls herself a warrior?"

  "Hey, have you seen her record book?"

  "He’s still wearing those hideous brown robes."

  "I totally saw Pebble and Sara hanging out the other day … "

  "I heard Runt and that weird girl … what’s her name again? Anyway, Ariel said they took out a giant pigman. Not that I believe it. Those two noobs? Pssh. Come on."

  Before it was time for class, the "teams" strolled down the hall together, real slow. At one point, Team Pebble passed Team Redstone. They gave each other "the look," did the whole
shoulder thing, the head tilting, and took off to their respective classes.

  I’m better than him.

  We’re better than them.

  That girl’s trash-tier.

  That kid’s an ubernoob.

  What kind of armor do they have?

  Even the members of Team Noob look down on me now. Including that kid with the combat score of a door.

  Welcome

  to my life.

  It’s always been like this, ever since school started—but lately, things have gotten way worse.

  I wonder if it’s the same way on Earth?

  Later today, there was a special after-school activity:

  digging a deadfall field.

  Yeah.

  After digging about two hundred holes myself, it feels as though I’ve dunked my hands in lava. Oh, and don’t ask what that golem is doing up there on the wall.

  No one knows.

  It’s kind of a mystery.

  The only way to get up onto the wall is by climbing a ladder, and the last time I checked, golems couldn’t do that. Who knows—maybe the golems are getting smarter, too. Just like the mobs. Maybe next year a golem will be running for mayor.

  I’d vote for him.

  Speaking of the mayor, he gave a speech just before dinnertime.

  "We will build our walls so high and so thick," he shouted, "any travelers mapping this area will think they’ve run into an Extreme Hills Biome!!"

  Everyone cheered at this.