Steve knew that while his heavy Cobblestone and Oak Planks offered physical security, the nights were still his greatest vulnerability.
Every moment of darkness was a moment spent awake, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the forest and the nagging dread of what might lurk outside.
He needed a Bed—not just for comfort, but for the inherent, game-mechanic ability to skip the night and set a permanent spawn point.
"The problem? Beds required Wool. And wool required sheep."
He'd only spotted two cows and three pigs the previous day, but no sheep.
He had to assume they were present in the biome, somewhere near his forest edge, likely grazing.
He checked his inventory. It was late afternoon, maybe an hour of good sunlight left.
Hunting for sheep now was risky, but waiting meant enduring another full night of paranoia.
"No time like the present,"
He muttered, grabbing his Stone Axe and heading out, leaving his torches lit inside the new base.
He retraced his steps toward the muddy, grassy patch where he had found the cows and pigs yesterday.
He moved slowly, eyes scanning for any patch of white or gray.
The ground was rough, transitioning from dense forest floor to sparse, open grassland.
After twenty tense minutes, he heard it—a faint, bleating sound.
He moved toward the sound, peering through a thicket of spruce.
There, grazing placidly near a shallow stream, were three Sheep.
Two were the pristine white he needed; one was a drab, patchy gray.
He approached cautiously. They looked docile, almost stupidly unaware of the danger he represented.
He targeted the nearest white sheep, raising the Axe.
THWACK!
The sheep vanished instantly, yielding Raw Mutton (1) and, critically, White Wool (1).
He dispatched the other white sheep, securing two more pieces of wool.
The gray sheep, startled by the sudden disappearance of its companions, finally bolted.
Steve didn't pursue it; he had three wool.
He turned to leave, relief washing over him, when he realized the sun was now dipping below the horizon.
The light filtering through the trees was the deep, oppressive purple of twilight.
The sounds of the forest had changed from the gentle chirping of birds to the rustle of unseen things.
He sped up, jogging back along his cleared path. He could feel a subtle shift in the atmosphere—a distinct, cold tension settling over the woods.
He was twenty yards from his base when he heard a new sound, one that instantly chilled him to the bone.
It wasn't the natural howl of a coyote or the cry of an owl. It was a dry, shuffling, uneven gait, accompanied by a low, guttural groan.
Steve whipped around, adrenaline spiking.
Between the trees, emerging from the deep shadow, was a figure. It was human-shaped, but its skin was a sickly, pale green, and its clothes were tattered and filthy.
Its eyes glowed with a faint, malevolent light, and its arms were outstretched.
"Holy shit! Zombie!"
This wasn't just a fantasy world; this was a dangerous world. And the dangers were now manifesting.
The Zombie was slow, thank goodness, but it was relentless and moving directly towards him. Steve didn't hesitate. Survival instinct took over.
He raised his Stone Axe and met the creature head-on.
THWACK!
The axe struck the creature's head. It didn't flinch. The blow would have killed a man, or at least disabled him, but the Zombie barely slowed its advance, its rotting hand reaching out.
Steve felt a wave of cold terror. Quirks were deadly, but they usually followed rules. This thing was defying biology.
He struck again, harder, faster.
THWACK! THWACK!
On the third blow, the Zombie's head snapped backward, and its entire form dissolved into gray, swirling particles, just like the animals.
Floating where it stood were three items: a piece of Rotten Flesh (1), a lump of Coal (1), and a few shimmering green orbs that instantly shot towards Steve and vanished into his chest.
[EXP GAINED: 5] flashed momentarily in his vision.
Steve stood panting, the adrenaline rush leaving him shaking. He had killed a monster. He had gained experience.
And he had confirmed the primary rule of the night: Hostile mobs spawn in the dark.
He didn't stick around. He sprinted the remaining twenty feet to his base, slammed the Wooden Door shut, and bolted the interior windows.
Safe inside his well-lit chamber, he hurried to the Crafting Table.
He placed the three White Wool across the top row, and the three Oak Planks across the middle row.
The output box shimmered with a vision of rest and security: White Bed (1).
He placed the Bed against the interior wall, a beacon of hope in the darkness.
He clicked on it.
[SET SPAWN POINT] flashed on the screen.
Then: [SLEEP? (DANGERS ARE NEARBY)]
He hesitated.
There was still a shuffling outside. But he knew the rules. If the danger wasn't right outside the door, the system often allowed it.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the intent to sleep.
The darkness instantly faded. The sounds of the shuffling and groaning vanished. The purple sunset was replaced by the bright, high morning sun streaming through his wooden windows.
Steve woke up refreshed, the fear of the night completely erased, his health and hunger bars full.
He had gained an invaluable, game-breaking advantage: mastery over time.