The transition was a familiar agony now, a blinding white flash followed by the sudden, soft air of the Cherry Grove Biome. Elias gasped, his body hitting the perfectly manicured grass. He didn't waste time checking his limbs. He looked immediately at the sun. It was high in the sky, a massive, square orb that promised a full day of work.
He was back at his spawn point—the small, flat patch of dirt where his apartment had briefly intersected with this world. He had a full day, and he would not waste a second.
His primary goal was no longer just survival; it was efficiency. He was an architect, and his new world was a blank canvas of infinite, perfect materials. He would build a structure that maximized resource gathering while minimizing risk.
He quickly crafted a full set of stone tools, the rhythmic clink of the pickaxe against the stone being the most soothing sound he'd heard in months. The Block Weaver's Sense was a constant, low-level hum in his mind, providing instant, perfect schematics for every tool and every structure.
He began to work, not with the aimless urgency of a survivor, but with the focused precision of a master builder.
Phase 1: The Foundation.
He chose a small, flat plateau overlooking the Cherry Grove. It was defensible, offered a clear view of the surrounding terrain, and was close to a small, exposed iron vein he had spotted on his first trip.
He dug a five-by-five hole, three blocks deep. This was not a shelter; it was the core utility block. He placed his crafting table, a furnace, and a chest inside. He roofed it with a single layer of dirt, making it indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain. It was a perfectly camouflaged, secure workspace.
Phase 2: The Perimeter.
He needed a wall, but a simple wall was inefficient. He needed a mob-proof, resource-generating perimeter.
He began planting the saplings he had gathered in Chapter 2, spacing them precisely four blocks apart. He knew the growth mechanics: they needed light and space. The resulting trees would form a dense, living wall.
While waiting for the trees to grow, he focused on the most critical element: the mine.
Phase 3: The Mine.
He found the exposed iron vein and began digging, not straight down, but with a gentle, calculated slope. He was creating a branch mine, a system he knew yielded the highest return on investment for time spent. He dug a main corridor, then began carving out side tunnels every three blocks, ensuring he exposed every possible block in the chunk.
The work was physically exhausting, but mentally liberating. Every swing of the pickaxe, every block placed, was a direct, tangible step toward solving his real-world problem. Here, there were no permits, no zoning laws, no creditors. Only his will and the perfect, obedient blocks.
He found the iron. It was a glorious, gray-flecked vein embedded in the stone. He mined it methodically, stacking the raw ore in his inventory.
It was during the long, silent work in the mine that the first real danger arrived.
A low, guttural moan echoed from the main corridor.
Elias froze, his heart hammering. He knew that sound. A Zombie.
He had a wooden sword, a few pieces of iron ore, and the cold, hard knowledge of its attack pattern. He held his breath, listening to the shuffling footsteps approach his tunnel.
The Zombie rounded the corner, its arms outstretched, its face a mottled, decaying green. It was a grotesque parody of life, a shambling, single-minded engine of destruction.
Elias didn't panic. He saw the Zombie not as a monster, but as a problem of spatial geometry.
Its hitbox is one block wide. My tunnel is one block wide. I have the high ground.
He waited until the Zombie was directly in front of him, then he struck. He didn't just swing the sword; he used the knockback mechanic, striking the Zombie just as it entered his tunnel, sending it stumbling back a few paces. He repeated the process—strike, wait for the recovery, strike again.
It was a slow, brutal dance, but it was a dance of pure, cold logic. The Zombie couldn't reach him. It couldn't overcome the simple structural advantage he had engineered.
He delivered the final blow, and the Zombie dissolved into a puff of smoke, leaving behind a piece of rotten flesh.
Elias leaned against the stone wall, his chest heaving. He had won. Not through luck or brute force, but through superior design.
He looked at the rotten flesh and felt a wave of disgust. He had to get out of the mine.
He returned to his utility block. The sun was beginning to set. The trees he had planted had grown into a dense, interlocking wall. His fortress was complete.
He smelted the iron ore, the heat from the furnace a welcome comfort. He crafted an iron pickaxe—a tool worthy of his new ambition—and then, a single, raw Iron Ingot.
He looked at the ingot. It was a massive leap in value from the single Cherry Log. This was enough to pay the overdue electricity bill and buy a week's worth of food. This was enough to buy him time.
He closed his eyes. He focused on the Anchor—Clara's music box. The cold returned, the crystalline hum started, and the de-resolution began.
The pain was the worst yet, a violent, tearing sensation as his body was digitized.
He gasped, landing hard on his apartment floor. The clock read 2:19 AM.
He looked at the iron ingot in his hand, then at the photo of Clara. He tried to recall the name of his favorite high school teacher, the one who had first encouraged his love of architecture.
The face was there. The memory of the classroom was there. The name was gone.
A more valuable resource demanded a more valuable memory. The exchange was precise, merciless, and perfectly balanced.
Elias Vance, the architect, stood in his cold apartment, clutching the iron ingot. He had built a fortress in another world, but the walls of his own mind were beginning to crumble. He had found control, but the cost was his very identity. And he knew, with a cold certainty, that he would have to go back.
End of Chapter 4
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