Vlad and I sat at the long wooden table, the torches burning low. Between us, Silk sat perfectly straight, her white hair spilling over her black scarf like threads of moonlight. She didn't blink. She didn't even shift.
[picture]
The only movement came from her hands, neat and precise, cutting into the steak I'd set in front of her. Each slice was identical in thickness, and each bite was chewed exactly seven times before she swallowed.
[Vlad]: Adam… are you sure she's not a machine?
[Adam]: …She's eating steak. Machines don't eat steak.
[Vlad]: Brother, she's eating steak like she studied it in a book.
He wasn't wrong. Silk's face didn't change as she ate — no pleasure, no disgust, not even hunger. Just the same calm, dead-eyed efficiency, like she was cataloging the act itself.
Finally, she set the fork down and folded her hands on the table.
[Silk]: Fuel source acceptable. Iron content noted. Protein efficient.
She turned her black eyes toward me, and for the first time since her arrival, I felt something crawl in my chest — not fear, not exactly. More like recognition.
[Silk]: Adam. Objective required. Agency directive unclear.
[Vlad]: Translation: she wants to know what the hell she's supposed to do.
I rubbed my face. Silk was real — too real. A perfect soldier, maybe, but her presence pressed down on the room like a second gravity.
[Adam]: Alright… first things first. Are you really my clone?
Silk's head turned toward me, slow and deliberate. Her black eyes reflected the torchlight, bottomless.
[Silk]: Confirmed. I am a clone — your DNA template, altered.
Her voice was calm, clinical, but the words crawled under my skin.
[Silk]: I was born in another strand of time. A war. Humanity lost to the Arachnid Dominion — colossal spiders that consumed cities, worlds, entire skies. The Guild authorized hybrid weapons, bred from survivors. I was one of them.
She raised her pale hand, flexing her fingers as though testing their strength.
[Silk]: My purpose was clear — infiltrate, hunt, and kill. I carried the instincts of a spider and the mind of a human. A weapon designed to weave terror back against the enemy.
For the first time, her tone shifted — not colder, but softer. Almost bitter.
[Silk]: But the war ended. Not in victory. Not in survival. Humanity was erased. And I—I was deemed an abomination. Disposable. They cast me into the void.
The torches hissed. I realized my knuckles were white against the Crescent Rose's shaft.
[Vlad]: Laughing Gods, Adam. You didn't summon a helper. You dragged a ghost from a graveyard that doesn't even exist anymore.
Silk didn't flinch. She just leaned forward, folding her hands with perfect precision.
[Silk]: Correction. I was discarded, but not destroyed. The Guild salvaged me. Reforged me. And now… I belong to you.
Her eyes locked with mine. Not hostile, not pleading — just absolute.
[Silk]: Directive required. Give me a purpose, Adam. Or I will default.
[Vlad]: grimacing, and what happens when she "defaults"?
Silk blinked once.
[Silk]: Instinct takes command. Hunt. Consume. Survive.
I had my hand on my head and looked at her.
[Adam]: …Then I guess your first purpose is simple. Protect the village. Protect the people, take care of the animals, and the farm... and if you can, please go to the lake and fish.
Silk tilted her head. Her white hair shifted like a curtain, and for the first time her expression cracked — not a smile, but something close to confusion.
[Silk]: Fish. …Why?
[Adam]: Because we need food. Because it's quiet. Because— gods help me —it might even teach you patience. And fishing… It's full of surprises. Maybe we'll haul in enchanted books, or a better rod. Luck works in strange ways here.
For a moment, she just stared at me, black eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, she touched the black scarf at her throat as though considering.
[Silk]: Directive accepted. Protect. Guard. Farm. …Fish.
[Vlad]: You've just weaponized a fishing rod. Congratulations, Adam. You're truly a madman.
[Adam]: Better than leaving her on "hunt, consume, survive."
[Vlad]: …Fair point.
Silk stood, chair scraping against the stone floor with deliberate care. She moved toward the door, then paused — her voice softer than before, almost like it wasn't built for softness at all.
[Silk]: If I catch something unexpected, Adam… shall I bring it alive?
The hairs on my arms rose. Fishing in Skyblock had a way of bending rules when luck and mods collided. "Unexpected" could mean treasure. Or monsters. Or worse.
[Adam]: …Yes. Alive. We'll deal with it together.
Silk nodded once and stepped out into the light, her long shadow sliding across the courtyard like a spider's web stretching over the village.
[Adam]: Yeah, Vlad, I know... Also, you'll have to work. I can't have someone who eats twenty sheep a day for free.
Vlad went pale, then started to sweat. The idea of feeding Silk an endless supply of mutton seemed to age him by a decade in five seconds.
[Vlad]: Twenty? Twenty?! She's not a furnace— I mean, she's a person now. She— gods, what did you sign us up for?
[Adam]: Vlad… that was you. Remember? You eat twenty a day. Silk eats only ten steaks a day—and she can supplement with vegetables. But you… You need meat and blood. Vegetables won't cut it. And twenty sheep or cows a day? Vlad, you told me you were still hungry after that and you'd go for more.
Vlad's face drained of color, settling somewhere between "medieval panic" and "apocalyptic dread." He ran a trembling hand through his hair, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
[Vlad]: I… I… Brother, I need blood. And those sheep and cows—they barely sustain me! I… I may need a hundred a day. A hundred! And… and if we don't… what then? You may faint if we try to supply it all at once…
I leaned back, gripping the table edge. Vlad's panic was almost funny if it weren't so… horrifying.
[Adam]: Vlad, slow down. We'll manage. But no, you won't eat a hundred sheep in a day. We'll rotate. We'll breed fast. And Silk can handle herself with the lake and vegetables for now. You… you're going to be more strategic. Feed when needed. Hunt when necessary. Control.
Vlad groaned, running a hand over his eyes. The reality of rationing blood and meat for a first-gen vampire and a hybrid clone was dawning on him like a nightmare with a timetable.
[Vlad]: …Strategic. Control. Right. So… I… I'll try. But Brother… if I collapse, don't blame me.
I smirked despite the tension.
[Adam]: Collapse? No. You'll survive. You'll adapt. And if anything… the Ledger will find a way to judge me, not you.
Outside, Silk returned from the lake, carrying another glowing fish. Vlad's eyes widened.
[Vlad]: By the forge… that glow—again?
[Adam]: Yes. Keep watching. Keep learning. And Vlad… start breeding. Fast.
Vlad let out a shaky laugh that was part terror, part acceptance.
[Vlad]: Breeding… of sheep. For… survival. Right. Right. Fine. Fine.
The two of them stood there—Silk with her fish, Vlad panicking over blood quotas—and I realized this was just the first day of a long, impossible balancing act. The village, the monsters, the Ledger, the Soul Market… and now, feeding two beings who could consume half the livestock in a week.
And somehow… we'd make it work.
[Day 34]
I stood with my arms crossed, surveying the pair before me. Vlad shifted nervously, eyeing the remaining livestock like they were ticking time bombs. Silk, calm as a statue, held a battered fishing rod dripping water—and something glittering faintly in her grasp.
[Adam]: Silk, let's start with you. You've fished until the rod broke, and you've done well. Good job pulling Dust Crystals and other… unusual things from the lake.
Silk tilted her head, the sunlight catching her white hair like silver threads.
[Silk]: …Crystals. Correct. And small aquatic creatures. I observed. Efficient.
[Adam]: Efficient, yes—but also… helpful. You've gathered food, resources, and even a few surprises that might help the village. That's exactly what I need.
Vlad groaned audibly.
[Vlad]: Surprises? Do any of those "surprises" eat faster than me? Because I swear, if one of them grows teeth, I'm gone.
I turned to him with a smirk.
[Adam]: Relax. For now, your quota is still manageable. But you need to start helping with the animals and the farm. Feeding you is already half the job; the rest is keeping the village sustainable.
[Vlad]: Sustainable… Right. Farm, livestock, blood rations, control instincts… got it.
Silk silently dropped her catch into the storage chest, her movements precise and deliberate. She glanced at Vlad briefly, as if sizing him up.
[Silk]: Observation: Vlad requires guidance to prevent inefficient consumption. I will assist.
Vlad blinked at her, his mouth hanging open.
[Vlad]: …Assist? You're… a fishy girl, and you're helping me?
[Silk]: Correction. Arachnid, not fish. My efficiency is superior.
[Vlad]: Superior?! I've been farming and fighting longer than you've been—been… hatched!
[Silk]: I was not hatched. I was engineered. Your argument is invalid.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as their voices rose, Vlad gesturing wildly while Silk stared with deadpan precision. Watching them was like seeing a medieval peasant argue with a weight-measuring AI—loud panic against calm math.
[Adam]: Okay. Enough. Both of you, stop.
The room fell quiet, though Vlad still muttered under his breath, and Silk blinked once in silent victory.
[Adam]: Ready your tools, your weapons, your packs. Tomorrow… we're leaving.
They both turned to me.
[Adam]: We'll be going on a trade journey. Not in this world—in another.
Vlad's jaw dropped. Silk tilted her head again, analyzing.
[Vlad]: …Another world? You mean through that cursed book of yours? The one that hums like it's about to explode?
[Silk]: Parameters unknown. Trade journey implies exchange, acquisition, and risk. I accept.
[Vlad]: Accept?! You don't even know what's waiting there! Could be demons, could be… worse!
[Adam]: It doesn't matter. The Guild gave me a Manual, and we're bound to it now. If we want the village to survive—if we want to survive—we can't just wait for raids and pray. We need resources. Allies. Knowledge.
I put both hands on the table, leaning forward until they met my eyes.
[Adam]: Tomorrow, we step through the Ledger. Crimson Hoods Agency makes its first trade run.
Silence. Then, slowly, Vlad swallowed hard, his fangs catching the light.
[Vlad]: Brother… I've got a very bad feeling about this.
[Silk]: Anticipation acknowledged. Preparing for deployment.
[Adam]: All right, Vlad, pack your inventory with weapons and armor that we will sell. Silk, the food duty is on you, and make sure we have a variety. I will prepare the horses' camp supplies, our private food, ammo, and other supplies. Meet me next to the mob tower tomorrow.
[Day 35]
The morning was sharp and cold, a thin mist curling over the void edges of the island. The mob tower loomed above me like a crooked watchman, dripping faint echoes of bones and arrows. I tightened my armor and checked my pack one last time. The Ledger pulsed faintly at my hip, reminding me that today wasn't just another defense, another raid—it was a step into something bigger.
Silk arrived first, silent as a shadow. Her white hair fell like a veil, and over her shoulder hung three heavy bags. When she set them down, the smell hit me—rich cooked steak, smoked fish, loaves of bread still warm, carrots and potatoes polished clean, even stacks of cookies that glittered with sugar. Every item was arranged with uncanny precision, like she'd raided a feast and catalogued it for sale.
[Silk]: Food prepared. Variety optimized. Bread for comfort. Meat for strength. Fish for patience. Carrots for color. Sugar for morale.
Her voice was flat, clinical. But something about the way she set one loaf on top of the stack—gently, almost reverently—made me wonder if she was trying to learn what care looked like.
[Adam]: …Looks good. Might be the first time I've seen food look ready for war.
Silk blinked once, unreadable.
Then came the heavy tread of boots and the faint jangle of armor. Vlad emerged from the mist, two packs slung across his back and twin red blades strapped at his hips. His armor gleamed darker than steel, oiled and ready, but his face was pale.
[Vlad]: Alright, brother. Weapons polished, armor repaired. Pickaxes, swords, shields, crossbows—all bundled and ready for trade. Even threw in some enchanted junk we never use. But gods help me, if we step into some hell-world, I swear—
He cut himself off, glancing at Silk, who was calmly stacking carrots into exact rows on the ground.
[Vlad]: —You really trust her to handle food?
[Silk]: Affirmative. Nutritional logistics secured. Your panic is inefficient.
Vlad growled under his breath, but I stepped forward before another argument could spark.
[Adam]: Enough. We're not marching into this half-prepared. We're not marching into this, fighting each other.
I placed a hand on the Ledger. Its black cover throbbed faintly, like it was waiting. The mist coiled tighter around the mob tower as if even the void knew what was coming.
[Adam]: This isn't just about us anymore. Crimson Hoods Agency makes its first trade run today. New world, new market. We show them we belong.
The horses pawed the stone, their breath steaming in the cold morning. Three steeds built like living engines, muscles coiled, hooves scraping sparks on the cobble. Silk moved without hesitation, strapping bags across one horse with flawless knots. Vlad muttered curses as he loaded another, his armor clanking.
When they were finished, the three of us stood at the base of the tower. The Ledger pulsed in my grip.
[Adam]: Once I open this… there's no going back until the trade's done. You both ready?
Vlad's red eyes narrowed, sharp with dread and loyalty.
[Vlad]: No. But I'm here.
Silk adjusted her scarf, unblinking.
[Silk]: Ready. Awaiting coordinates.
I opened the Ledger.
The words bled across the page, alive and shifting.
[The Merchant's Ledger]
[Crimson Hoods Agency — First Trade Run]
[World: Random Selection Initiated]
The letters began to glow, too bright to look at. The horses stamped and snorted as if sensing the pull. My heart hammered in my chest.
The page burned one final word into my vision:
[ENTER]
I pressed it. The letters ignited, a flare so bright it seared the inside of my skull. My vision went white-hot, my ears rang, and the world folded in on itself.
[Vlad]: AAAAAAHHHH! Son of a salty witch on a sidewalk!
[Adam]: AAAAAHHHH! Harry, son of a Larry Jones!
We staggered, clutching our faces like we'd just stared into a stack of exploding glowstone. My knees buckled. My stomach spun like the void itself had grabbed me and given me a good shake.
Silk, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the blazing light as if she were watching paint dry. She calmly unwrapped a cookie, took a delicate bite, and let the sugar crunch echo like a judgment.
[Silk]: Observation — overreaction. Advice to Vlad: ignore pain, resume half-useless status as always.
[Vlad]: Half-useless?! You—!
He flailed blindly, red eyes watering, stumbling into a horse that reared and snorted fire-hot air into his face.
[Adam]: Vlad, calm down! She's… technically helping!
[Silk]: Correction. I am accurate.
The light flared one last time, swallowing the argument whole. Gravity twisted, the world flipped inside out, and then—
—silence.
The light flared one last time, swallowing the argument whole. Gravity twisted, the world flipped inside out, and then—
—silence.
My sight cleared. We were no longer on Skyblock, no longer standing on stone or dirt. The air was thick with smoke and neon haze, the sharp tang of oil and fried food biting the back of my throat. Lights of every color blinked and pulsed around us, sharp as blades in the fog.
I turned toward the source.
An amusement park.
Its gates loomed, wrought iron bent into a sprawling arch crowned with a garish sign: "La Manchaland — Where Dreams Come True!" In glittering, half-broken bulbs, the letters buzzed and flickered, some hanging by wires like they wanted to quit their jobs.
Crowds streamed in and out. Children with candy-stained faces. Adults with hollow eyes and wallets already empty. Park mascots in oversized grinning costumes waved stiffly, their smiles too wide, their eyes too glassy. The laughter spilling from inside was… wrong. A little too sharp. A little too rehearsed.
[Vlad]: …Brother. Tell me we did not just step into hell wearing clown shoes.
[Silk]: Correction. Environment scan confirms high entertainment density. Corruption level uncertain. Probability of hidden predatory systems — 94%.
I swallowed hard, watching as a rollercoaster roared overhead, the screams of its passengers cutting through the smog.
[Adam]: Welcome to… La Manchaland. And if the Ledger's right—
The book at my side pulsed with cold authority.
[WORLD SHIFT: Project Moon Node. Current Zone — La Manchaland.]
[Vlad]: I hate this already.
[Silk]: Query. The objective remains trade? Or survival?
The park gates creaked open as if they'd heard her question, a mascot in a rabbit suit waving us in with jerky, mechanical enthusiasm.
[Adam]: …Both. Gods help us, probably both.
[Vlad]: We need to get away from here fast. I smell kin… and not of my blood.
[Silk]: Confirmation. Presence of vampires detected. Advisory: Avoid this zone.
We mounted our super horses, hooves pounding the strange, neon-lit ground, keeping as much distance as possible from the gates of La Manchaland. But even as we fled, I felt it—a pair of eyes burning into us. Red, sharp, focused. The man behind them didn't blink. He was watching Vlad. Targeting him.
[Vlad]: I know something about this park is wrong… but seeing it up close? This is insane. Who uses powers like this to build… this?
[Adam]: Vlad, are you… okay?
[Vlad]: No, Adam, I'm not. And you won't be either, once I tell you… This park—it's built of blood. Every ride, every stall, every fake laugh—it's fuel for a single vampire's control. One. Just. One.
I felt the chill crawl up my spine. Even the air smelled metallic, like the faint tang of iron on a blade. The crowds were real enough, but the atmosphere pulsed unnaturally, feeding something beneath it all.
[Silk]: Recommendation: reconnaissance required. Identify primary host and energy nodes. Minimize exposure.
[Vlad]: …Adam. If we don't want to die, we need to stay far from this place. That vampire—he may tolerate humans for now, but if he senses another vampire who isn't his blood… he'll dispose of them without hesitation. I can't fight him. We need to grab our supplies and find a safe place to set up shop.
We spurred our super horses, hooves pounding the strange neon pavement as the amusement park receded behind us, its lights flickering like eyes watching our retreat.
Unseen, a figure trailed us. Blond hair caught the faint glow of the distant rides. She moved like a shadow, silent and deliberate, keeping pace without ever stepping into the open.
[Adam]: Vlad… did you feel that?
[Vlad]: I did… but she hasn't made herself known yet. Keep your guard up.
[Silk]: Observation: pursuer maintains distance. Hostile intent unknown. Recommend continued caution.
[Chapter End]