Survivor: Definitely Not Minecraft

“Light!”

We heard the shout as we approached the entrance of the mine, and I stuffed my magical torch headfirst into my pack to hide its glow. Gastard drew his sword, and Esmelda and I stayed a step behind him. Outside, we were met with four men who looked to have been preparing to camp. Fuzzu was tied off beside Gastard’s horse by the closest shack, and I saw one other horse with them, which had a nice-looking saddle on its back. They had built a fire in front of the building, and there was a pot of stew steaming above the burning logs.

Two of the men were standing a few paces back from either side of the entrance. They looked like hunters, with brown and gray tunics cinched at their waists. Tools hung from their belts, and one of them also had a squirrel hanging from his hip. They all had similar leather leggings and high boots, though in varying states of use, and the two slightly farther from the entrance had bows on their backs. They weren’t holding weapons, but they all of them carried multiple knives on their belts.

“Hold there,” the man closest to us said. He had dark hair and a sour face. “Put up that sword, we’re here to talk with you.”

“Talk?” Gastard regarded him levelly. “This is an ambush.”

“Is that what it looks like?” The voice came from the door of the shack, which had opened to reveal another man. His tunic was nicer than what the others wore, deep blue, and unstained. It was long-sleeved, with embroidery around the cuffs that partially concealed his hands, which were clenched at his sides. He had a doublet on over his tunic embroidered with a house sign, a rabbit jumping over a tree. “Gastard, you of all people should know an ambush when you see one, or don’t, for that matter.”

“Baron Gent,” Gastard said as I stepped up beside him. “What are you doing here?”

The baron wrinkled his nose in disgust. He wasn't a handsome man, his eyes a little too far apart, his cheeks pockmarked. “This is my land, my mine, and yet I have been informed that you and your friend there came here and took over, claiming Godwod’s authority. But you don’t work for the Margrave anymore, do you?”

“Lord Godwod gave me the right to dig here,” I said, “but we didn’t turn anything up, so we’re leaving. You're welcome to bring your men back in.”

“Am I now?” The baron stepped down from the shack. “And who are you, to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

“Will Smith,” I said. “Sorry if I sounded like I was giving orders. I’m working for Lord Godwod, and we’re going to see him now.”

“An unusual situation, if it’s true.” Gent’s hand relaxed at his sides, but he was staring daggers at me. “I’m told there was a letter. I will read it.”

I passed off the order Godwod had given me to the man with a sour face, and he brought it to the baron. Esmelda, Gastard, and I stood close together under the entrance of the mine. He had lowered his sword, but not put it away. One of the men was giving Esmelda a look I didn’t like, and I stepped in front of her.

The baron took his time reading, though there wasn’t much there. “This says nothing about sending my workers away.”

“A misunderstanding,” I said. “We apologize for the inconvenience. But there’s nothing down there for them to bring up. This is a dead mine.”

His mouth drew into a hard line. “That’s what this is about, then? Godwod thought I was cheating him, and sent you to look things over? The upper level is dry, but there’s still digging to be done.” He glanced over at the horses. “ I have been insulted, nonetheless. That’s your old mare, isn’t it Gastard? But the other is in fine shape. This affair has given me a bad taste. Give that one to me, and I will permit you all to go on your way.”

“She’s mine,” Esmelda said, pushing forward and putting her hands on her hips. “We shall do no such thing.”

The pair of men carrying bows unshouldered them but did not ready arrows. I turned to the nearest one, and put my hand on the hilt of my sword.

“What a pretty little girl you are,” Gent said. “If you’d like, you can stay with her, and I’ll bring the both of you back to my manor. My wife has been complaining that she needs a new maid.”

“I am not a girl,” Esmelda said. “I am a lillit, and my father is the mayor of Erihseht. Let us be on our way.”

“A lillit,” Gent drew out the word distastefully. “Whoever your father is, I am the baron here, and I demand compensation for the loss of work you all caused me. I am in my rights to do as I please on my land.”

“We are under the lord’s protection,” Gastard said. “If you are unsatisfied, you may take it up with him.”

There was a long moment as the baron looked between me and Gastard. Though outnumbered, we were better equipped, and his hunters were too close to get much use out of their bows before we got to them. When it came down to it, he couldn’t know whether there would be a reprisal from Godwod if he did anything to us or not.

“I will do that,” he said. “You may tell the Margrave that I will be seeking an audience with him soon.” He waved the parchment and dropped it on the ground in front of him. “If you return here, you will need much more than this to keep you from harm. These lands are nearly wild, and it is not uncommon for men to go missing.”

“We thank you for your concern,” Gastard said. The three of us went together to collect the horses and began to lead them away. I watched the men watching us go, but they didn’t move to start shooting, and Gent disappeared back inside the shack.

“It was bluster,” Gastard said, “he is of low rank, and he won’t risk offending the margrave.”

We paused as Esmelda climbed atop Fuzzu, giving the horse a comforting pat. “Just a bully,” Esmelda said, “I hope we never see him again.”

“I thought someone would come,” I said, “but I didn’t expect it to be the actual baron.”

“Barely a baron,” Gastard said. “He has this land only because no one else wants it. The mine is recent, an attempt to raise his value to the margrave, and it has never produced much.”

It was too close to nightfall for me to return to the city, but there was no reason for Esmelda and Gastard to have to spend the evening cramped with their horses in one of my shelters. I told them to go ahead, and after a brief debate with Esmelda, they agreed to wait for me at the first inn we had passed on our last visit to Henterfell.

I walked a mile off the road and selected a nice-looking hillock bare of trees. Rather than build up a shelter, I dug down into the top and made myself a little bomb shelter. I had plenty of stone, and I liked the idea of having hideouts scattered around the region. You never knew when you might need one. Crafting in real life was a thousand times more satisfying than doing the same thing in a game. Every block I placed added to my contentment. The entry hole was too small for a troll, so after adding a ladder to get up and down, I added a fence gate to use as a trap door, reinforcing it with a stone slab on top.

The eternal torch was more than bright enough to prevent spawns in the small space, and I felt better having it out, even if I knew total darkness was technically safe. After spending some time sorting through my coins, a never-ending chore, I settled in to grind my artisan skill. I wanted to make Esmelda a present.

I lined up all my tools, chopped a log down into a four-inch chunk, and got to work with my knife. So far, every time I’d worked on a figurine, I’d pretty much let my hands do their own thing while my mind wandered. Now I actively tried to focus on what I wanted to whittle out of the wood, trying to imagine the shape that was hidden beneath all that extra plant fiber.

Flower, I thought. Give me a flower. My knife shaved down the wood with ease, flakes falling around my legs as I sat cross-legged in the corner of the shelter. I hummed to myself as I worked, longing for Spotify, and watched the wood block transform.

The final product was not a masterpiece, but you could at least tell what it was. The petals were blocky, and mostly stuck together. Still, it was better than it should have been, given my lack of actual experience in the art form. It seemed like my skill was less effective when I didn’t give it free rein, but its influence was still present. I hollowed out a nook in the center of the blossom and carefully tapped in a piece of quartz with my mallet.

Skills

Miner: 29

Advancement 42%

Artisan: 8

Advancement 60%

My skills were a little lopsided, but that reflected what my needs had been so far. One day, maybe I could spend all my days crafting truly beautiful items, instead of just perfectly functional. The gold sword had been a weird exception as if the System had understood that there was no point in a weapon like that except as an ornament. Regardless, I was proud of the flower.