Minecraft: Diary of a Wimpy Villager (Book 6): (An unofficial Minecraft book)

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Minecraft: Diary of a Wimpy Villager (Book 6): (An unofficial Minecraft book) Page 2

by Kid, Cube


  Golden Rule #15: Don't make a mushroom farm without recessed torches in the ceiling.

  In a land far, far away, a noob named JonBo checked on his mushroom farm.

  When he opened the door, he saw not only red mushrooms growing on the floor, but bright red glowing lights in the darkness beyond.

  The noob merely assumed those were special, glow-in-the-dark mushrooms.

  Overjoyed, he stepped into his mushroom farm to begin harvesting.

  Dude, Minecraft doesn't HAVE glow-in-the-dark-mushrooms. Those are REDSTONE ORE VEINS, noob!!

  Golden Rule #17: Don't mine stone with your bare hands.

  Long, long ago, there was a noob named Steven.

  He harvested wood with his bare hands because harvesting wood with tools, in his mind, was a waste of resources.

  Why reduce tool durability?

  Why bother crafting axes at all?

  Steven's hands had no durability, as far as he knew.

  Even if it took him longer to chop down trees this way, he could save materials.

  He could punch and punch all day, and never lose any precious wood from crafting tools.

  Steven was the kind of guy who, upon loaning his best friend a wooden sword six months earlier, would eventually ask for exactly one stick and two oak planks to be returned.

  Once, Steven and two friends bought a cake together. The cake cost six emeralds, and had 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 only have to pay 1.75 emeralds instead.

  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?!"

  In this one, the Steve lookalike is named 'Steven'. Coincidence? I don't think so.

  At this point, the elder has stopped trying to disguise his obvious jealousy for Steve.

  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 fishing in the Nether.

  "Hey!! What's so crazy about fishing in the Nether?!"

  There were lava lakes, so why not? Maybe the Nether had some kind of fiery fish monster? Who knew? Bob sure didn't know! Bob didn't know much of anything. However, Bob 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, with no luck.

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

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

  Right.

  A secret technique.

  And then the ghast, now only two blocks away, spit a fireball at Bob, which Bob couldn't dodge, melting Bob.

  Bob made farting/gurgling sounds while 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: Lilypad.

  There was no fairy tale story on this one.

  No text at all, in fact.

  Just a picture of a lilypad.

  I'm . . . not sure what to make of this one.

  Today wasn't all bad, though.

  Steve showed us a really cool trick in Combat class. He 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.

  Actually, Steve doesn't appear to be holding onto ANYTHING. The guy's a master.

  Friday

  Today was bad.

  Really bad.

  After my Crafting Basics class, 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.

  As I mentioned before, all three of them are high-level students, just under Max and I. 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 considered Max to be a bully—but these guys, they're like super bullies.

  I didn't even notice them before, but now, all of a sudden, they're 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 ran into Max with his shoulder, then 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, just looked down at the pieces of his record book.

  I had to say step up and say something.

  I walked up next to Max, 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 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 so many pieces, each piece had no more than one letter or number.

  It happened so fast.

  It was as if a 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, which still remained. Not that it mattered. It was no longer functioning.

  "So you were telling the truth," I said. "Those guys are really 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. Then tomorrow, we'll flash them in Pebble's face. We can thank Pebble for making us ge
t new record books because they're so shiny and new. 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—which currently served as his inventory in this world. "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? I told you, 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 are getting so serious.

  New bullies tearing up other kid's record books.

  Powerful familes, pulling strings behind the scenes.

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

  The mobs, who have never come 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 myself. 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, until: "I have an idea."

  "What idea, hurrrrr?"

  "I need some time. I'm still not sure how well it'll work. For now, during 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.

  Saturday

  I worked pretty hard in school all week, so I needed a break—needed to clear my head after what happened yesterday.

  That was why I took off to the park this morning.

  Alone.

  Yes, our village has a park.

  It's pretty much like a forest, somewhere near the middle of our village.

  Even though people go there to relax, that's not the reason it exists.

  In reality, it's a tree farm.

  We can harvest wood safely without ever stepping out past the walls.

  There are also a lot of flowers for those who like to dye their stuff.

  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.

  "Don't worry, bro. You look cool. You look cool."

  Thirty minutes after entering the park, I was deep inside, 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 something out of the corner of my eye.

  It was like a shadow or something.

  So weird.

  It vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  Of course, I immediately thought about the 'village creeper', the ninja-like 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 the very real possibility of a creeper hunting me.

  Not good.

  Soon, the rustle of grass came from 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.

  Of course, I knew her.

  Breeze.

  She was a student.

  I'd seen her at school from time to time, although we didn't share many of the same classes.

  Not only that, but she usually kept to herself. She was pretty shy.

  Even so, she was one of those students who'd asked me questions after I aced that Building test, and that Trading test.

  She smiled as I looked at her.

  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 today," I said. "I'm not helping anyone."

  "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."

  Of course, 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?

  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 gathered half a stack of sand.

  Sunday

  I had my Saturday all planned out.

  Step 1: Feed the slime.

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

  I tossed Jello a bread loaf, grabbed my shovel and was out the door. (Hopefully, my parents won't discover my new pet.)

  Within minutes, I was at Steve's house.

  Steve 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 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 the weird forest in the east.

  I didn't ask this to try and get them 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," said Mike. "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 glanced at both of them. "What are you guys talking about, hurrrr?"

  Mike gave me a pitiful 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 is up in this village . . . limited our food supply . . ."

  There was an awkward silence, until 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.

 

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