[Day 30]
I held my axe in one hand and my crossbow in the other, leveled at the traveling merchant who looked like he belonged in the wrong story.
[Adam]: Tell me, Jones—why shouldn't I shoot you in that stupid face?
The merchant blinked slowly. He smelled faintly of hay and old books, like a man who'd been on the road too long. He smiled that same too-wide smile and answered in a voice that made my skin crawl.
[Jones]: I was your friend long before the others. I stood at every wedding as the flower-holder, the best man. I was the first to trade with you.
[Adam]: I want a real reason, then. Why talk now? Not the usual "hoo" thing. You can talk — so why make it worse?
Jones didn't flinch. He took a single step closer, calm as daylight.
[Jones]: Because things are changing, Adam. Because some doors open only once, and someone has to leave the key behind.
He set something on the ground between us — a book I recognized before I read the cover. The pages were slightly warm, humming like a beehive.
[Multiversal Tool Seller's Manual, Vol. 1]
I picked the book up. My knuckles were white on the crossbow grip. I lowered the axe, but I didn't let the bowstring slacken.
[Adam]: Tell me… what is this?
Jones tapped the cover with one finger, slow and deliberate, like he was pointing at scripture.
[Jones]: Well, Adam… this is an invitation. My friends and I would like you to join our great Merchant Guild of the Multiversal.
The word Multiversal landed wrong — heavy and off-key.
[Adam]: A guild? In Skyblock? You expect me to believe—
[Jones]: You've already seen the cracks, haven't you? Mobs that shouldn't exist. Shadows that watch. Adam, you know you can't survive alone. We can give you a chance to survive — to protect. Or do you want to expand that graveyard?
I tightened my aim on his chest.
[Adam]: Why me? Why now?
Jones chuckled, low, almost pitying.
[Jones]: It's classified, but mostly because you're still alive — and HE let you go.
He stepped back, eyes glinting like lantern glass.
[Jones]: Open the Manual. If you're worthy, it'll answer. If you're not… well, you won't have to worry about Skyblock much longer. The mobs that are coming scare me.
Then, as before, he was gone. The llamas were gone. Only the book remained, pulsing faintly on the dirt like something breathing.
I put the book in my inventory and return to fortifying the village and trading for weapons and armor.
[Day 31]
I haven't slept since yesterday. The werewolves came again.
We held them off, but at a price. Two more iron golems are gone, and eight villagers… gone. One of them was my only master armorsmith. He used to smile every time I brought him emeralds. Now there's just silence where his forge used to ring.
I'm down to my last two diamond sets. No spares, no backups. The chest that once held iron is empty, which makes every golem that still walks with us more valuable than gold. Tyrant patrols harder now, like he knows he's irreplaceable.
The village feels thinner. Quieter. Every gap in the houses, every empty bed, feels like a hole in me.
The book sits in my chest, humming softly whenever I get close. I'm not ready to open it. Not yet. Not while the village still needs me awake, still needs me here.
But I can feel the pressure building. The attacks are getting harder, the mobs stranger. My walls hold, but for how long?
I've fortified every inch I can. I've traded every emerald I could scrape together for weapons and armor. And still, it feels like I'm standing on sand while the tide comes in.
Damn it. If I keep going like this, I'll bleed out slowly. I'm barely holding as it is. If another villager dies — if it's the weaponsmith — the village is finished.
I opened the book.
The pages shifted under my fingers, warm and alive, like they were waiting for me. Words inked themselves as I stared down.
They weren't instructions. They weren't recipes. There were rules.
[The Merchant's Code — Vol. 1]
[ 1-Upon entering a world, no valuable resource may be harvested by your own hand.
Gold, diamonds, rare ores, relics — they belong to the world itself. Only trade may bring them into your possession.
2-Violence is permitted only in defense.
Defend yourself. Defend others. Strike against hostile creatures. But to raise a weapon for gain alone is to be stripped of Merchant's Rights.
3-A traded resource cannot be traded again in the same world.
Once exchanged, an item's path is sealed. Value must move forward, not circle endlessly.
4-No world may be entered more than once per year.
A merchant's footsteps are rare by law. Overstaying bleeds the world dry.
5-Every trade must be fair — value for value.
Exploitation is forbidden. To cheat a customer is to cheat the Guild, and the Guild collects its debts.
6-Gifts bind debt.
Nothing is free. Even a gift sets a price, though its payment may come later.
7-Knowledge is currency.
Recipes, secrets, and methods are worth as much as iron or emeralds. Hoard them, guard them, or sell them dear.
8-Every world has its Market.
A village, a camp, a castle, even a single wanderer — the Merchant must recognize the Market and trade with it, for trade sustains the path.
9-Do not trade with what you cannot explain.
Items born of chaos, shadows, or void are forbidden unless sanctioned by the Guild. Such trade invites ruin.
10-The Ledger sees all.
Every trade is written, somewhere. To deny it is to lie to the Ledger, and no one escapes its audit.
11- Breaking the Code is breaking the Guild. The Guild always collects.]
At the end of the page, the letters twisted themselves into a single line, empty and waiting:
"Sign here."
[ ____ ]
I stared at it for a long time. My hands were trembling. Signing meant binding myself to this Guild I didn't understand, to laws older than my world, maybe older than me.
But I couldn't keep bleeding like this. Couldn't keep burying villagers and counting down the last of my diamonds. If this was a chance — even a cursed one — I had to take it.
I opened my chest, pulled out a vial of black dye, and dipped a sharpened stick into the ink. The dye clung thick to the wood, darker than midnight.
Slowly, carefully, I wrote my name.
The moment the last letter curved into place, the ink shimmered and sank into the page, like the book swallowed it whole. The humming grew louder, almost a heartbeat.
Then silence.
The letters of my name glowed faintly, etched into the Manual forever.
I wasn't just Adam anymore. I was… something else.
A line of fresh script burned itself beneath my signature, crisp and final:
"Merchant Adam — Initiate of the Multiversal Guild. Rights granted. Obligations eternal."
The book snapped shut by itself. My chest felt heavy, like I'd agreed to something I couldn't yet see.
And outside, for the first time in days, the wind carried the sound of footsteps that weren't mine.
I turned, crossbow raised, but of course it was him. Jones.
He stood just outside the gate like he'd never left, his llamas staring with glassy, unblinking eyes.
[Jones]: Congratulations, brother. You've joined us.
His voice carried like the words had weight, like the wind itself bent to listen.
[Jones]: As trade law dictates, you are now under protection. No danger shall touch you, and your… island, your workers, will be shielded as well.
He tilted his head, smiling too widely, eyes reflecting torchlight like coins.
[Jones]: In return, the Guild requires only its due. Ten percent of all profit from trade. Always.
The way he said it — always — made my skin crawl.
[Adam]: And if I don't pay?
Jones's grin stretched.
[Jones]: Then the Ledger will collect. It always does.
He didn't move closer. He didn't need to. The book in my inventory pulsed against my side, as if to remind me that his words weren't a threat. They were truth.
[Jones]: Now, brother, let us go to the holy land of trade — the Great Soul Market.
Before I could reply, his hands pressed down on my shoulders. Cold. Heavy.
The world shattered.
Stone walls, torchlight, villagers, the void beyond my island — gone in an instant. My knees almost buckled, my stomach lurched, and when I blinked again… I wasn't in Skyblock anymore.
I was standing in a supermarket.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Endless aisles stretched in every direction, but the shelves weren't stocked with bread or canned beans. They were filled with weapons, relics, blocks of ore, bottled monsters, and things I couldn't even name. Emeralds were stacked like apples. Diamonds glowed in bins like candy. Strange books rustled as though whispering their own prices.
The air was thick with voices. Not villager hums, but words in a hundred tongues — haggling, bargaining, chanting. Everywhere I looked, figures bartered: cloaked shadows, armored warriors, beings with too many eyes, creatures made of smoke. Each carried a book like mine, glowing faintly with their names.
Jones released my shoulders and spread his arms like a priest at an altar.
[Jones]: Welcome, Adam. The Soul Market — where every world, every life, every deal meets.
He gestured grandly to the glowing aisles around us.
[Jones]: This is the Minecraft section. Don't be puzzled. The Guild organizes the Market by world, by law. Now, as your initiation gift, you may take three things here for free. Choose wisely.
I barked a laugh I didn't feel.
[Adam]: Thanks, Jones. I'll make sure you're the best man at every wedding I ever have.
Jones's grin split wide, almost too wide.
[Jones]: YEAH, BABY—! … ahem. Sorry. Force of habit.
He leaned in conspiratorially, voice dropping into a whisper that carried like thunder in this place.
[Jones]: My advice? Buy a clone pill and an NPC Awakener. Your village will thank you — and Ivan, your first-gen friend? Give him a proper feed of blood, and you'll find he's less… problematic.
He tapped the side of his nose, then jabbed a thumb at a crooked row of stalls further down.
[Jones]: Oh, and go to the Mods Shop. Don't skip it. Don't ask why. Just do it. But — and this is carved into stone — never, ever buy a full mod. Always buy random. Random keeps the world stable. Full loads break it.
[Jones]: So — what'll it be, brother? Three things. Free. Choose. Now go and choose.
I walked the aisles with my crossbow still in hand, though no one here seemed afraid of weapons. Their eyes followed me, not with fear, but with appraisal — like predators watching a new rival take its first steps.
Jones's advice echoed in my ears. I found the stall with Clone Pills, each one a glassy capsule humming like redstone dust. Then the NPC Awakener, a charm carved from bone and emerald. Both went into my inventory with a faint chime, like the Ledger itself had approved. Finally, the Mods stall — a chaotic mess of shelves that rearranged themselves when you blinked. I grabbed the first box marked "Random," and the whole aisle shuddered. My skin crawled, but nothing broke.
My three freebies were done. But I wasn't finished.
I checked my inventory — twenty emeralds. Not much here. I spent them all on four pieces of netherite. Perfect. Then I dragged out two full chests of wheat and potatoes from my reserves and watched them vanish in exchange for twenty more netherites.
On a whim, I bartered a double chest of rotten flesh for a mod — something simple, cosmetic. Like hats and clocks will better hide my identity and help me mix in with crowds.
By the time I returned to Jones, my inventory was heavier.
[Jones]: Not bad for a first haul. You're learning. But before you leave, there's one last rule. No Merchant walks the Market nameless. You need a banner — a name for your company, your agency. Something the Ledger will recognize.
I thought about the graveyard back home, about the blood, about the villagers still alive and the shadows still watching, and then I remembered a friend with red eyes and fangs.
[Adam]: Crimson Hoods Agency. A perfect name.
Jones grinned, too wide as always, and tipped his hat like I'd just signed a deal with something older than time.
[Jones]: Then it's official. Crimson Hoods Agency enters the Ledger. May your trades be fair, your profits plentiful, and your enemies crushed beneath the weight of debt.
[Adam]: Great… Now, how do I get back to Skyblock?
[Jones]: That is easy. Just open your book and touch the word [Exit].
I pulled out the Manual. Its cover pulsed faintly, warmer than before, and when I opened it, the text had changed:
[The Merchant's Ledger]
Name: The Crimson Hoods Agency
Members: 1
Rank: Unranked
World: Skyblock No. 1342114588
[Soul Market]
[{Enter} | {Exit}]
I stared at it, half-expecting the letters to rearrange themselves into something crueler. My finger hovered over [Exit], and I couldn't shake the thought:
If Enter brings me here, where else could it take me?
Jones just winked.
[Jones]: Careful, brother. The Ledger records every step.
With a shaky breath, I pressed [Exit].
The Soul Market dissolved into static. Colors bled away. My stomach lurched like falling off the edge of the island — then the familiar square dirt, my castle walls, and the endless void snapped back into focus.
[Day 32]
I slept well tonight. No monsters attacked, no villagers screamed, no creepers hissed. Even the mob spawner tower was silent. It was like waking up and finding the game had switched from Hardcore into… Peaceful.
But that wasn't what kept me awake after sunrise.
On my desk, two items glowed faintly: the NPC Awakener and the Mod Box.
The Awakener looked deceptively simple — a carved obsidian shard with glowing veins that pulsed like a heartbeat. According to the Manual, it could rewrite the rules of existence. A villager, a monster, even a golem — it didn't matter. The Awakener could pull them out of code and give them thought. Memory. A soul.
I had two names in mind.
Tyrant. My oldest iron golem, the one who had bled iron and fire alongside me when the vampires came. Loyal, unbreakable, but silent. Always silent.
Vlad. My first blacksmith, my friend. Turned into a first-gen vampire, locked in his own house because I couldn't kill him. If awakened… maybe he'd come back. Maybe he wouldn't.
I held the Awakener, feeling its weight shift in my palm like it knew the decision waiting.
[Adam]: …Damn it.
The Mod Box sat unopened, humming with possibility. Randomized, Jones had said. A gamble. It could be something harmless like cosmetic fluff… or something that would rewrite my entire world again.
One choice at a time.
I held my breath as the last stone cracked and crumbled. Behind the wall, two burning red eyes stared back at me, steady and unblinking.
For a moment, all I saw was the monster. The first-gen vampire who tore through iron like paper and left scars on the village that hadn't healed. My hands trembled on the Awakener, but I pressed it to his chest.
The shard sank into him like water. Light — not sunlight, something deeper — spread through his veins. His body convulsed, shadow and flame warring against each other. Then, with a gasp sharp enough to cut glass, he spoke.
[???]: Took you long enough, Adam. Thought I'd never see the light again.
My axe was already half-raised, but I froze. The voice was Vlad's. Not the guttural growl of the vampire, but the steady, dry sarcasm of the blacksmith I'd traded with a hundred times.
He stepped forward into the daylight. His skin didn't smoke. His eyes still glowed faintly crimson, but not with hunger — with awareness. He looked at his hands like he'd just been given them for the first time.
[Vlad]: Hells… I feel… heavy. And hungry for blood. That's new.
[Picture]
[Adam]: Happy to see you too, Vlad.
I didn't even think. I just ran forward and hugged him. To my surprise, he hugged back. Strong, warm — real.
[Vlad]: Brother. Sorry for making you worry. Now… what did I miss? Also, if you've got a cow or maybe a sheep, I'm starving.
We talked for hours. About the village. About the raids. About how he still remembered being locked in stone, half-conscious, screaming silently against instincts that weren't his own.
Apparently, he could live on any kind of blood now — not just human. Cow, sheep, pig… hell, even chicken if desperate. That was a relief. Still, the golems gave him the cold shoulder, glaring at him like they knew he was wrong in their world.
Later that night, I sat in my castle, staring at the unopened Mod Box. My hand hesitated on the latch, then I flipped it open.
The words appeared in glowing script, burned into the air:
[Installed: RWBY Extended Mod]
[Hybrid weapons may be forged.
Dust crystals can now spawn or be traded.
Semblances and auras may awaken.
Grimm is recognized as hostile mob and will spawn in the world.
Races set as Human and Faunus.
Hunters, Weaponcrafters, and Dust Traders will spawn.]
I stared at the screen until my eyes hurt.
[Adam]: …You've got to be kidding me.
Vlad leaned over my shoulder, fangs glinting in the torchlight.
[Vlad]: Well, brother, if I understand this right… You've just turned this world into a forge of gods and monsters.
And for the first time in a while, he grinned like a blacksmith again.
[Vlad]: Tell me, Adam — do you want a scythe that turns into a sniper rifle? Because I really want to build a scythe that turns into a sniper rifle.
[Adam]: Yes, of course, I want the Crescent Rose that is my childhood dream to wield it.
[Day 33]
I held the Crescent Rose like I was afraid it might melt. It was everything the stories promised and more — a black-and-crimson scythe with gunmetal veins and a long, serrated shaft that hummed when I moved it. The blade folded and clicked with a satisfying weight; it felt like it remembered every swing I'd ever wanted to make. My new armor sat heavy across my shoulders, silver plates inlaid with a faint, pulsing red sigil — the Guild's mark, stitched into the chest like a promise and a brand.
[Picture]
Vlad stood opposite me, twin red swords balanced in his hands like extensions of his forearms. He was grinning like a man who'd been given back his hammer. The forge in his chest had come home.
[Adam]: Vlad… are you ready?
[Vlad]: Yes, Adam. Take the pill.
It was small and glassy, no larger than an Ender pearl, humming faintly with guild-magic. My fingers shook as I popped it into my mouth. For a beat, nothing happened — then the air in front of me folded like the crease of a book.
She appeared: a girl with long white hair falling like silk, eyes so black they swallowed the torchlight, a black suit that hugged her like armor, black scarf and gloves, a tiny heart sigil stitched on her chest. Her expression was neutral. No blink, no human hesitation — a perfect, uncanny calm.
[Silk]: Name — Silk. Adam. Female — spider clone.
Silk's voice was soft and oddly metallic, like music played through glass. She turned her head, assessing the Crescent Rose with the professional curiosity of a weapon crafter.
Silence hung for a second until Vlad barked a laugh that sounded almost like relief.
[Vlad]: Adam, brother… You need help.
[Chapter End]