[Day 42]
Vlad and Silk both stared at me like I'd just committed some ancient crime. I was halfway through stacking logs for a roof when Vlad finally broke.
[Vlad]: Adam… we need to talk about the way you build things.
[Adam]: Is there a problem with my way of building?
[Vlad]: Problem? Brother, everything you build is a cube. Houses? Cubes. Barn? Cube. Warehouse? Bigger cube. Castle? Just a twenty-by-twenty cube with torches stuck on the sides like acne.
[Adam]: …Exercise me, but my Minecraft knowledge doesn't extend beyond 100-day survival videos and speedruns on YouTube. And maybe—maybe—some other videos I shouldn't mention.
Silk tilted her head, watching me slam down more blocks with the precision of a man trying to fix a leaky pipe with duct tape.
[Silk]: Observation: Adam's architectural style = "functional cube." Estimated aesthetic value: negative 64%. Recommendation: outsource construction to villagers.
[Vlad]: Exactly! Even the villagers are shaking their heads when you start building. Look at that guy—he's crying into his carrots because of that roof.
I turned to see a farmer indeed dabbing at his eyes with a beetroot.
[Adam]: …It's a roof. What do you want from me, a gothic cathedral?
[Vlad]: At least try a triangle once, brother. One triangle.
[Adam]: If you think you're better at building, then let Silk do it.
I shoved a stack of blocks into her hands. Silk tilted her head, processing for a second, then her arms blurred like piston drills.
In less than five minutes, my sad cube-shaped shack had transformed into one of those "How to Build a Fancy House in 60 Seconds" YouTube tutorials. Sloped roof. Arched windows. Flower boxes. Lanterns dangling like jewelry.
[Silk]: Task complete. Efficiency rating: 423%. Audience approval: 10/10 villagers.
Sure enough, half the village had gathered, applauding like they were watching fireworks.
[Vlad]: See? See, brother? That—that is a house. Not… whatever stone refrigerator boxes you keep summoning from hell.
[Adam]: …Okay, fine. But it doesn't count unless it keeps creepers out.
As if on cue, a creeper wandered up, admired the new porch swing, and then turned away without exploding.
[Silk]: Analysis: beauty reduces hostility.
[Vlad]: Even monsters know better than to blow up something this nice!
[Adam]: …I'm never living this down, am I?
The rest of the day blurred into routine: me farming until my arms ached, Vlad cooking and haggling with villagers like some apron-wearing mafia boss, and Silk gliding through half-finished houses, turning cubes into palaces with architectural witchcraft.
[Day 43]
The Soul Market shimmered into view, stalls stretching endlessly under an otherworldly sky. I tightened my grip on my emerald pouch.
I bought three Awakeners—150 each, gone in seconds, totaling 450. Another 98 disappeared into coal, iron, and emerald ore veins. I saved the last handful of points for a gamble.
[Adam]: Let's see how lucky I am today.
I clicked purchase.
[System]: [Mixed Horror Mods x10 acquired{—Mimicer—Slanderman—The Creeper—Hero…}]
The list kept scrolling, each name worse than the last. My smile froze.
Then a voice whispered right behind my ear, too close, too human.
[???]: Do you know what happened to me?
I didn't even answer. Instinct took over—I pulled out my gun, fired, and bolted.
[Day 44]
The morning sun didn't make the glass cages look any less sinister. Ten of them, lined up like trophies in the yard, each pulsing with malice.
[Adam]: Now look at you… Slanderman. That's what happens when you touch someone's ass in the middle of the forest.
The creature shifted, faceless head tilting, long limbs twitching against the glass.
[Adam]: And you, Mimicer. Staring through my windows at night like a creep. Enjoy the box.
The twisted chest-creature gnashed its teeth, the sound like nails grinding against bone.
I walked past the rest—freakish shapes pressing against their prisons, shadows writhing behind the glass.
I froze. Two pale, burning eyes cut through the glass like knives in the dark.
[Adam]: Here you are, Mister Herobrine. I still remember how you looked at me back in the early days. Always watching. Always just… there.
[Vlad]: Brother, get away from him. Last time you got close, he almost killed you. Don't tempt fate.
[Silk]: Observation: Containment field integrity at ninety-seven percent. Probability of breach… rising. Rating: Adam is full of spite.
Herobrine tilted his head, those pale eyes gleaming like twin moons in a storm. His fingers brushed the glass once, and it shivered.
[Vlad]: Adam! I'm serious—he isn't a mob. He's a curse given shape. He's wrong.
[Adam]: …Maybe. Or maybe he's just a shadow waiting for me to blink. Either way, he's staying in that cage.
I turned my back on the glass, forcing myself not to look again. The eyes followed anyway. I could feel them stabbing into me, like I'd dragged a ghost home and locked it in the basement.
[Silk]: Addendum: Probability of Adam's spite accelerating breach event… now ninety-nine percent.
[Vlad]: …We're doomed.
[Adam]: Come on, you two, I'm not that bad… Soon, Mister Eyes, I'll gouge those pale lanterns right out of your skull.
I leaned close, breath fogging the glass. Then—slow, deliberate—I dragged my tongue across the cold surface.
The effect was immediate. The other horror mobs recoiled, pressing themselves against the far walls of their cells. Even the Mimicer—who had been gnashing its teeth at me seconds ago—shrank back with a wet hiss.
[Vlad]: …What in the ten hells is wrong with you?!
[Silk]: Revision: Probability of Adam being "that bad"… upgraded to one hundred percent.
For the first time, Herobrine moved—not just the tilt of his head, but a single step forward. White eyes, unblinking, locked onto mine. He raised his hand and pressed his palm flat against the glass, mirroring the place where my tongue had been. The containment wall groaned.
[Adam]: …He blinked first.
But deep down, I knew he hadn't.
The rest of the day was… an "anger management session," courtesy of Vlad's yelling and Silk's monotone lectures on self-control. By the end of it, my head hurt worse than any mob fight.
Later that night, curiosity—or maybe spite—pulled me back to the prison. The torches guttered low, shadows dripping across the stone walls. The cages stood in their neat, glassy rows, each horror mob twitching in its corner.
Except one.
Herobrine's cell was empty.
The glass wasn't broken, wasn't scratched, and wasn't even marked. Just… open, like it had never held anything at all.
[Adam]: …Oh no.
Behind me, the torches flickered. One by one, they snuffed out.
And in the dark, two pale white eyes opened.
I bolted out immediately.
[Day 45]
[Vlad]: Brother, I know you're scared, but rushing into another trade right after that is a bad idea.
[Adam]: I'm not scared. Just… taking the two new guys out for a walk.
I gestured at the pair behind me. Lilith, the witch, and Tyrant, the golem, a mountain of iron whose footsteps made the ground hum, and a little girl next to it.
[Pictures]
[Silk]: Observation: You used two of three Awakeners. Probability of regret: high.
Lilith smiled faintly, her voice low and dripping with honey and poison alike.
[Lilith]: Don't worry, little strategist. I always make my enemies regret something. The question is what.
Tyrant said nothing. He just stood, silent as a cliff face, eyes glowing faintly like smoldering coals.
[Vlad]: Wonderful. One's a cursed seductress, the other's a walking landslide. Brother, you're building a family of nightmares.
[Adam]: …And yet, you're still wearing the pink apron.
Vlad sputtered, Lilith laughed, and Tyrant's gaze never moved from me.
[Adam]: Come on now, let's go trade.
The light flared one last time, swallowing the argument whole. Gravity twisted, the air snapped like a taut string, and the world flipped inside out, walls of reality folding over themselves.
Then—
—silence.
The cold authority of the Manual pulsed at my side, its hum sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
[WORLD SHIFT: Destroyed Teyvat Node. Current Zone — Dragonspine.]
Outside, jagged mountains tore through the mist like shattered glass. Rivers of molten rock snaked between cliffs, and skeletal trees clawed at the ash-gray sky. A wind howled across the ridge, carrying the faint scent of sulfur and scorched metal. Somewhere below, the distant roar of a dragon echoed, deep enough to rattle my bones.
[Vlad]: …Brother. I know you like a challenge, but this—this isn't just a market zone. This is hell with better feng shui.
[Silk]: Observation: Terrain hostile. Atmospheric toxicity 14%. Presence of apex predators confirmed. Probability of trade without conflict: 0.3%.
[Adam]: …Of course. It wouldn't be fun otherwise.
Lilith stepped forward, her cloak rippling like shadows moving on their own.
[Lilith]: Finally, a place worthy of my attention. Shall we see if your little caravan survives this… Dragonspine?
Tyrant's stone fingers dug into the ground.
[Tyrant]: Movement detected. Not safe to advance without scouting.
I clenched my fists around the Manual and the Ledger.
[Adam]: All right, everyone. Time to make this work. Vlad, weapons ready. Silk, food, and supplies. Lilith… try not to burn the place down before we even start. Tyrant… watch my back.
I looked at the dark clouds and the dark land around us, and then at the horde of monsters surrounding a city. Tyrant jumped with speed, and we followed him as our big iron friend ran.
[Change of POV]
The sky was heavy with black clouds, lightning crawling like veins across the horizon. The land was darker still, cracked and bleeding flame.
At the heart of it stood Mondstadt—or what remained of it. Its battered walls strained under the endless press of monsters. Hilichurls, Slimes, Drakes, Abyss Mages—every kind of nightmare clawed at the stone.
On the ramparts, a man with sharp blue hair gripped his spear tight, his breath misting in the toxic air.
[???]: Damn it, Lee… If you hadn't started the Apocalypse, this world wouldn't be dying.
He turned sharply as a cry went up.
[Knight]: Traveler! The Hilichurls are breaking in from the back! Tell Master Diluc—we need him now!
The man's jaw tightened as he looked to the gate. Knights were faltering, their blades dull against the tide. The monsters came like a flood, unstoppable. Hope thinned like smoke.
Then something strange broke through the sea of beasts.
The man's jaw tightened as he looked to the gate. Knights were faltering, their blades dull against the tide. The monsters came like a flood, unstoppable. Hope thinned like smoke.
Then something strange broke through the sea of beasts.
A cloud of dirt and shattered stone surged inward, cutting a path through the horde. Hulking monsters were being flung into the air—screaming, crushed, torn apart.
At the center of the chaos, a lone figure advanced. White hair whipped wild in the storm-wind, his lower jaw masked in steel. His hands—mechanical, gleaming with cruel yellow light—moved faster than the eye could follow.
He caught a Lawachurl by its mask, his gauntlets whirring. Then came the punches.
One. Two. Ten. Twenty.
A tornado of blows ripped into the giant's chest, caving bone and shattering its heart in seconds. The beast collapsed like a felled tower.
Without pause, the man seized an Abyss Mage, fingers clamping tight around its throat. The creature's incantation died in a garbled hiss as its windpipe collapsed in his grip. He hurled it aside, already scanning for his next target.
A knight on the wall whispered in awe, voice trembling:
[Knight]: …Is that… a man? Or a weapon?
The battlefield answered for him.
Half the horde lay broken, slain by that single figure's fists. Limbs, masks, and black ichor stained the ground in rivers. But he wasn't alone.
From the dust and corpses, more shapes emerged—men and women clad in crimson hoods. They moved like hunters through the chaos, cutting down what remained of the horde with brutal precision.
Ten minutes later, the hills once black with monsters were silent. Nothing but smoldering carcasses remained.
A single hooded figure strode to the shattered gate, lowering his weapon but not his guard. His voice carried clear over the ruined walls.
[Adam]: Hello. I'm Adam, leader of the Crimson Hoods. And we're here to trade.
[Chapter End]