Steve had built himself a little matchbox house just outside the village, though he couldn't shake the feeling it was kind of pointless.
It seemed like the mob spawn rate in this world had been set to zero. He'd spent the entire night chopping trees without placing a single torch, yet not one zombie or skeleton had appeared.
That made him wonder—did mob farms even work here anymore?
Time itself also felt… stretched. He remembered that a full day used to last twenty minutes, but here, it was a full twenty-four hours. And worse—he couldn't skip the night with a bed.
After placing a ring of torches along the wall, he climbed down the inside ladder—only to be stopped by a Villager.
It was the chief.
Edmund bowed repeatedly, apologizing and cautiously asking how Steve wanted to deal with the Wind Wolf corpses.
Steve waited a bit, but when no item drops appeared from the man, he lost interest and turned away, heading back into his tiny house.
The chief stood there in silence for a long time, deep in thought. Finally, he decided the village would just take the materials and make use of them.
Inside, Steve's matchbox home was cramped—a single room serving as storage, workstation, and living area all at once.
Four columns of large chests lined the wall, each one sorted neatly into categories.
The far-left held blocks—dirt, stone, and logs.
Next came ores and materials: twenty Emeralds, fourteen wolf fangs, and twenty pieces of charcoal.
Then food and medicine: he'd stored all the black bread and kept only cooked Wind Wolf meat on him.
Cooking had doubled its saturation from six points to twelve—that was six drumsticks, better than most foods in vanilla Minecraft.
The last chest was for miscellaneous junk—worms, tree sap, and other random drops from digging and chopping. He'd research those later once he got the JEI mod.
Packing up some food, tools, and a few planks, Steve prepared to head out and explore.
There was a dirt road leading out of the village—the same one where he'd stopped the carriage before. He guessed it might connect to another village.
Maybe there'd be a blacksmith there.
Not long after he left, Edmund gathered several villagers—including Jack—and sent them to town.
They had to resolve the issue from yesterday and trade the wolf pelts for supplies—mostly food and nails.
Elina, much better after a night's rest, joined them too. She wanted to ask about the market value of high-grade furs.
The group set off toward Badley Town.
When Steve first saw the town, his first thought was worry—for the Player's machine.
Can the system even handle this many entities?
People filled the streets. He'd thought the few dozen villagers back home were plenty, but this place had ten times that number.
Then he remembered—the Player was gone. That realization left him oddly empty.
He started toward the town at an easy pace.
Unlike the village, the town was surrounded by a short stone wall, and most of its buildings were made of stone accented with wooden trim.
The townsfolk wore similar outfits—simple linen shirts and pants—though a few adventurers stood out in light armor.
He spotted at least a dozen different profession outfits. It gave him a new idea.
Maybe trading with Villagers is the main gameplay loop in this world's modpack.
Just like back in the village, his arrival caused an immediate stir. Nearly everyone turned to watch him, whispering nervously.
Reputation system, huh? he guessed. Each settlement probably had its own, and his baseline was clearly negative.
Ignoring the stares, he kept walking, scanning the area for the blacksmith.
He didn't bother checking every Villager's trades—there were way too many of them. In this world, Villagers seemed like a dime a dozen.
Still, when he opened a few trade interfaces, the Villagers shrieked and ran, spreading panic to everyone nearby.
That all but confirmed his suspicion: the reputation system was real.
Eventually, he spotted a place that was literally bursting with heat.
A standalone building sat in the corner of town, shaped like a massive furnace with a tall chimney spewing smoke and sparks.
A sign hung by the door, reading: *[Dwarven Blacksmith].*
Exactly what he was looking for. Ignoring the wary glances of the townsfolk, Steve opened the door and stepped inside.
The blacksmith's interior was spacious. A roaring forge burned along one wall, flooding the room with heat. Beside it sat an anvil and two barrels filled with some kind of unknown liquid.
Tools and weapons hung on the walls, and in one corner gleamed a full set of iron armor.
Steve's spirits lifted immediately. Ah, the blacksmith's always the jackpot.
He eagerly scanned the room for chests—there was always a chance one might contain a Diamond.
A small Villager stood near the forge. Though short, he looked weathered, brow furrowed deeply as he eyed Steve.
"My esteemed mage lord," the Villager said, voice gruff, "is there something you wish to have forged?"
The dwarf—Halls—shoved a cooling iron bar back into the forge, sweat gleaming on his bare shoulders as he stepped closer.
He'd already guessed what Steve was—a mage's creation. Those fragile spellcasters always hid behind something: either a golem or their teammates.
But this one was different. Its body was blocky and geometric, its surface etched with strange patterns that almost looked like leather armor.
There was… beauty in its design.
That alone won Halls's interest. His guard lowered.
Steve saw the little Villager approach and right-clicked on him out of habit—his Trading Interface opened instantly.
Oh. My apologies, Steve thought. A dwarf, huh?
[Halls – Blacksmith – Master]
[3 Gem → 1 Iron Ingot]
[2 Iron Ingot → 1 Iron Pickaxe]
[5 Ore → 1 Mineral Longsword]
[15 Emerald → 1 Dwarven Greatsword]
[10 Coal → 1 Emerald]
[32 Emerald → 1 Runesteel Ingot]
[64 Emerald → 1 Craftsman's Codex]
Iron Ingots?! Jackpot!
Halls suddenly froze—just for a heartbeat—as a strange pressure gripped him. But when he blinked, it was gone.
He watched in disbelief as Steve summoned a massive cube from thin air—its top hidden by the ceiling, its sides etched with tool symbols.
Before he could even react, another object appeared beneath him—something shaped like a boat—and his body moved on its own, sitting neatly inside.
"Hey!" Halls struggled, but his lower body refused to move, heavy as iron.
Then he saw Steve open one of his storage chests—the one holding his clothes and diary—and rage flared.
"You bastard, what the hell do you—"
His words died halfway out. The anger drained from his face, replaced by sheer horror.
Steve had returned, holding some kind of tool. He gave the anvil a casual tap—just one—and the thing split clean down the middle.
Halls's eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
How strong is this golem?!
For the first time, the dwarf wondered how to talk his way out of this—before the thing decided to flatten him next.