Hero Steve Trilogy: Book 1 to 3

By Mark Mulle

Complete Trilogy book of Hero Steve:

Book 1:The Quest for Boney Pete

In Steve's head he is a hero...but is he really a hero or a menace?

Every hero needs a mighty steed! For Steve no other horse will do but his skeleton horse - Boney Pete.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Mulle
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869089694

Book preview

Hero Steve Trilogy

Mark Mulle

PUBLISHED BY:

Mark Mulle

Copyright © 2021

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Dedicated to

Hrishaan

Brihan Shankar

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Book 1: The Quest for Boney Pete

Chapter One: Hero Steve

Chapter Two: Foxes of Fun

Chapter Three: Lucius

Chapter Four: My Nightmare

Chapter Five: Desert Pyramid

Chapter Six: Jungles of Joy

Chapter Seven: Pig-a-sode

Chapter Eight:  The Summoning

Book 2: Saving Camelot

Chapter 1: What's Minecraft?

Chapter 2: A True Hero

Chapter 3: Arthur Steve

Chapter 4: Pig-a-sode, The Sequel

Chapter 5: Trevor Trevor

Chapter 6: Keenan's Report

Chapter 7: Before the Storm

Chapter 8: Looking Down

Chapter 9: A Chungus Amongus

Chapter 10: The Assault

Chapter 11: Tulips and Daisys

Chapter 12: A Fond Farewell

Book 3: The Final Battle

Chapter 1: The Fox-Problem

Chapter 2: Pig-a-sode, Reloaded

Chapter 3: The Warped Warriors

Chapter 4: The Crimson Tribe

Chapter 5: A Crimson Walk

Chapter 6: Banished

Chapter 7: Red Versus Blue

Chapter 8: Hero Steve?

Chapter 9: Books ahoy!

Chapter 10: The End

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MORE FROM THIS AUTHOR

DIARY OF A HOGLIN

The Nether Dragons thrive in the Nether many centuries ago even before the Ender Dragon existed in the end.

D’zort the second in command among the Nether Dragon was turned into a Hoglin by an evoker.

Can he reclaim his dragon form back?

Find out here

DIARY OF A STRIDER

Have you met a Strider?

Here’s a diary written by a strider. Let him take you through a wild adventure as he goes on a journey to look for his missing Strider friends.

Read about here

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As an author, I highly appreciate the feedback from my readers. If you enjoy reading this book, please consider leaving your honest review here. It will help readers make an informed decision before buying my book. Thank you very much.

Book 1: The Quest for Boney Pete

Chapter One: Hero Steve

The 442nd Day of the Skeleton Horse Hunt (I will find you, Boney Pete)

It has been 442 days since my beloved skeleton horse, Boney Pete, vanished from my home without a trace. He has gone missing, perhaps taken, but who could have done it? I don’t know. Across mountains and oceans, I have searched for Boney Pete, but I have not yet found him or any other horse worthy enough to carry me. I found a brown mare that almost fit the bill, but in the end, he looked too plain. A brown horse? Could you imagine me, Steve … no, sorry, I should have written that differently. Let me try again.

Could you imagine me, HERO

STEVE, riding a boring, brown horse!?!?

(That’s more like it).

I am sitting by a campfire and using its light to write in this journal. This book has been my only friend on this long journey. The spruce trees lean over me as I write. When the wind blows the leaves swish and it sounds like whispering. I can almost hear words in their whispers (my hearing is very advanced after all).

What is it? I say politely to the trees (for I am always polite to things that can squish me while I sleep). Thankfully, they say nothing back and their noise dies down with the wind. I’m relieved. The day a tree does talk back to me is the day I put myself in the looney bin.

I am writing to tell you about the last two days as I want to tell you what has happened. I don’t really know who you are. But even if I’m writing for nobody, I need to write down everything about my exceptional life. Who knows, maybe I’ll die in the wilderness and my adventures will be discovered and published. Maybe I’ll become famous and my fabulous bones will be displayed for all the young crafters to look up to. Yes, I would like that a lot. So, I am writing to you, my future fans, to tell you about the last couple of days.

Two afternoons ago, on the 440th day of the skeleton horse hunt, as the sun reached the center of the sky, I stumbled out of a dark oak forest and onto a plains biome. In the distance, I saw a village.

I loosened my belt to prepare for the massive amounts of bread I was about to eat, letting out a loud HOORAH! at the same time. It had been a hard time for in the dark oak forest. I ran out of pork chops on the first night. After that, I had to eat mushroom stew. Can you believe it? Mushroom stew. Days and days of mushroom stew. I hope I die before I eat or even see another piece of fungus. So, future fans, you can probably imagine how happy I was to find this village. A village full of wheat, beetroot, potatoes, and best of all … PIGS. And it had villagers, of course. I saw several farmers working the potato fields and greeted them with another ‘HOORAH!’ They looked up from their work, shielding their eyes to block out the sun, no doubt blinded by my glorious iron chestplate. But instead of running towards me, offering me free food (as a hero like myself was accustomed to being treated), they ran into their houses, screaming and locked the doors.

I knew at once what had happened. The villagers had looked up and seen me, armed in my iron armor and wielding my iron sword (which I had taken out to impress them) and then looked behind me and seen an army of pillagers. They must have. If they had seen me alone, with my sword and armor, they would have let out a sigh of relief and rushed to give me free food. It must have been pillagers.

I smiled, my teeth gleaming as bright in

the sunlight as my iron armor (I have really nice teeth). If it wasn’t for my timely arrival, the village may not have noticed the pillagers until I was too late. I had already saved them from a surprise attack. Now I had to protect them.

I searched the plains for banner and crossbow wielding pillagers, but found them empty, save for a few scurrying cats. I realized the pillagers must be hiding in the dark oak forest I had emerged from. That place was so dense they could have been hiding anywhere.

I had to help these poor villagers defend themselves from this terrible threat, and so I took out my trusty diamond spade, who I affectionately call ‘George.’

I created George from the first, and sadly only, diamond ore that I mined. I thought about saving up for a sword, which would have suited me, but I couldn’t wait to have a diamond tool. So, I made George, naming him after a cat I had as a child. I am not sure who should be more honored, George that I named him after a cat, or the cat that I named a diamond spade after him.

I used George to dig a trench through the middle of the village potato field, cutting it in half. I piled the dirt blocks on the village side of the ditch and made a wall complete with course dirt guard towers and dirt battlements to protect me from arrows. I kept an eye on the dark oak forest in case the pillagers chose to attack while I was building. Strangely, they continued to hide.

I paced the walls, placing torches on the battlements and scratching my bearded chin vigorously. ‘They must know it’s Hero Steve who defends this village and are afraid to attack.’ I thought to myself. I used the extra time the pillagers gave me, to expand the trench and wall until it surrounded the entire village. Hunger struck as I finished and so I ate a couple of pigs that had been left out in the potato fields, no doubt unaware that there were pillagers nearby who were hungry for

their pork (which was delicious, by the way).

Night came, and I waited on the wall. I waited for the pillagers to attack, but the moon rose without a single crossbow bolt being shot at me. As the sunlight faded, zombies showed up. They always seem to show up when the sun goes down and they always seem to follow me. I killed a few that came close to my guard tower but left the rest. A tiny horde shambled into the village, but I had to stay at my post and watch for the pillager attack. I’m sure there was an iron golem around to deal with the zombies. Well, hopefully there was. If not, I’m sure the villagers could handle a few zombies (goodness knows I could). I stayed at my post even when I heard doors being smashed and screaming from the village. There was a bigger threat than zombies. I couldn’t be distracted. I had to be ready when the pillager attack came.

Sunrise. A beautiful morning. Orange light crept over the eastern horizon. Flowers opened their petals to greet the dawn. Cows and sheep began their day long feast, nibbling on grass and flowers. The whole world yawned, stretching as it began another day. I shed a quick tear, admiring the poetic beauty of it all.

With the rising of the sun came the very thing I had been hoping for: a white flag of surrender. But it did not come from the pillagers. It came from the villagers.

A blacksmith fell trembling at the foot of my guard tower, waving a piece of white wool above his head. P-please leave our village in p-peace. We will give you our most valuable p-p-possession. He dropped the wool and with his arms shaking, presented a long leather-wrapped package to me.

He was surrendering to me, but I had no idea why. I believe you’re confused, you silly, weak villager. I’m Hero Steve, the righteous defender of your town. Without me you would have been destroyed by the pillagers who haunt your borders. Why are you surrendering to me? I think the terror of the situation had gotten to him. Perhaps he heard trees talking to him. As I write this, I still think the spruce trees are whispering, but it might be the wind again.

When I said this to the blacksmith, he stopped shaking. Pillagers? There are no pillagers. It’s you. You frightened our farmers, you’ve ruined our crops, you trapped us with a dirt wall, you brought a plague of zombies on us … AND YOU ATE OUR TWO FAVORITE PIGS!!! The blacksmith finished his rant in tears.

A single tear entered my left eye and I brushed it away with a delicate flick of my agile fingers. Bravo, good sir. Excellent performance. Excellent! Excellent! Excellent! I leapt down from my wall and hugged him. I hugged him, even going so far as to laugh out loud. To think that a villager would plan a joke like this. There must be no pillagers after all. This blacksmith must be an actor who came to delight me with his ridiculous performance. I mean, he said that Hero Steve, was tormenting this town. Hah! That has to be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. The blacksmith was so dedicated to his joke that he didn’t break character. He began trembling when I hugged him.

P-please spare me.

I gave him a hearty smack on the back. Of course. Of course. Now tell me your name, villager.

T-Tim.

I hugged him tighter. Tim, I will be honest with you. My journey has been long, hard, and lonely. I have laughed harder today than any of the 440 days since Boney Pete was taken from me. You have my thanks. This village is like a second home to me now. I must visit you again someday and thank you properly.

When Tim the Blacksmith heard my

words, he fainted. I let him fall to the ground where he smacked into a block of coarse dirt. Seeing the leather wrapped gift lying on the ground, I scooped it up and continued on my quest.

By the end of the day I reached the taiga biome, where I am now writing this journal entry. I had been waiting to open the blacksmith’s gift until finishing this account and now I suppose it is time. I am most curious as to what it contains.

Oh my…

This … this is glorious.

Chapter Two: Foxes of Fun

The 443rd Day of the Skeleton Horse Hunt (Boney Pete, I endured sweet berries for you)

I was awake all night because of it. You may be wondering what it is, but there are actually two its. The first it was the gift villager Tim gave to me, wrapped in leather and smelling of oil. The second it was the conniving creature who stole it from me. But I should back up. You need to know what the first it is before I tell you about the second it. I imagine you are very tired of me saying the word it. I am pretty tired of it myself … hah!

Last night, sat at the campfire I unwrapped the gift. Unveiled before my eyes was a glorious sword. I tilted its blue edge towards the firelight and a purple shimmer ran up and down the blade. Not just any sword, but an enchanted sword. Not just any enchanted sword, but an enchanted diamond sword.

Runes were inscribed along the blade and spelled out, ‘Deadbegone’. I let the regal sound roll off my tongue. Deadbegone. Deadbegone. Deadbegone! What a strange and wonderful word. Deadbegone. I have no idea what it means of course. It must be from a different language.

I ran my large blocky hand over the length of the blade. It would make a marvelous replacement for my iron sword. Or at least it would have made a marvelous replacement, if I still had it.

Last night, as I sat by the fire admiring Deadbegone, a voice spoke to me. It was a small voice, but it enunciated each word with a scholar’s skill. It set me on edge at first, but the more it spoke, the more I trusted it.

Hello, mighty adventurer, the voice said.

I put the fire to my back and faced the voice. Deadbegone gleamed in my right hand. A hollow wind passed through the trees. Who speaks to Hero Steve? I said. With two hands, I gripped the sword and cleaved the air to show off my skill.

Impressive, the voice said, coming from behind me. The stories about you must be true.

I whipped my body around to face the voice. Stories? What stories? I thought about my future fans, the ones no doubt reading this journal. It seemed my future fans were now present fans.

Great stories, the voice said, coming again from a totally new location. I swiveled, keeping my sword up and ready. I had decided to trust the voice, for it was obviously a fan (or so I thought). The reason I kept my sword up was because my body had already gone into defense mode, and once I’m in defense mode, there is no going back for at least ten minutes. I may not understand physics, algebra, or other boring things, but I understand my body. I understand the way it moves and why. You could say my body and I have a great relationship.

The voice must have thought my sword wielding meant I didn’t trust it, because it refused to come into the light. It did love to talk though.

I heard the story of how you used determination and grit to beat the rabbit in a race. Oh, you did?

I heard how you defeated the big bad wolf by building a house made of bricks instead of straw.

That is a great story, but, uh, I never did that.

No? Then it is your future I must see. Your stories will be told and retold for generations to come.

Oh, I would love that above everything else. To think, everyone would know me and care about me. I would be loved and admired by the whole world.

Yes, the whole world would love you, but for that to happen, the world has to hear about you.

Yeah, that’s why I’ve been writing my adventures in a journal.

Very good. Very good. But who will copy the journal into a book? And who will copy that book into another book? Who will give out those books to the world?

I lowered my guard, letting Deadbegone’s point drop to the ground. His question had made me think about my future in a way I never had. Even if I wrote this journal, I had no idea what to do with it. Do you know how to get my story to the world?

The voice made a tsk tsk sound. Perhaps I could. I have much knowledge on the scholarly arts, though you would not guess it by looking at me. But before I make any promises, let me read your journal … Then almost as an afterthought, the voice added … and toss the sword to me as well. I need its purple light to read by.

I had already taken the journal from my pack and was about to toss it when I said. You should come to the fire. Reading will be easy if you sit by the light.

No, the voice said. I am shy and wish to remain hidden. It is my way. You would not understand, nor would you trust me if you saw me. I know you will understand, Steve. You are as wise as the white rabbit and mighty as the gray bearded pig.

Are those compliments or insults?

Oh, the highest of compliments. I have never given them before, nor shall I find another so fine to give them to. Now, if you please, the sword?

And the journal, right? I said.

Yes, of course. And the journal.

The voice sounded excited. I could understand that. When I read my journal, my insides feel as though they’ve been set on fire with fun. I really should have been a writer instead of a hero, but I decided to go down this path long ago. It’s way too late to make a career choice, especially when I’m so good at what I do.

I tossed the journal to the voice, and a few seconds later I tossed the sword. Look out, sharp object incoming! I watched Deadbegone spin a full circle in the air before vanishing into the dark. I waited and listened.

The voice laughed. It must already be enjoying my journal, I thought. But then the laughing continued. It laughed and it laughed until I thought the voice might die of exhaustion. Finally, it stopped. I never expected my journal to be quite that funny.

Steve the wise as wise as a silly rabbit. The voice chuckled. Steve the mighty as strong as an old pig!

I tried to laugh along but I didn’t find the jokes funny.

The fox did. And the voice did come from a fox: a talking fox. I could hardly believe such a strange creature existed, but there he was. After insulting me, the orange and white critter crept out of the dark and revealed his pointed ears and snout. His predatory eyes watched me. He had Deadbegone in his jaws.

I held out an empty hand. Give me my sword back.

The fox crept closer to the firelight until his whole orange body was visible. He lied to me about being shy. If trust was a piggy bank, then this fox had smashed mine with a hammer. Oh, you want this? he said with the sword still in his mouth. Annoyingly his voice remained as fancy and elegant as before. Come and catch me. The fox flashed a wave of his white-tipped tail and vanished into the spruce forest.

I wasted no time, grabbing a stack of torches from my pack and charging after the fox. My iron armor clinked like bells in the otherwise quiet night. Every ten blocks or so I threw down a torch and looked for the flash of the fox’s orange and white tail. I figured my journal was still on the forest floor where I had thrown it, an unfinished work of art waiting for its creator’s return. The fox only wanted the sword. I knew that now.

I saw the orange thief dip under a spruce tree and I cut around the trunk after him. On the other side I caught a glimpse of him entering a patch of ferns. I chased him in, knowing I couldn’t lose him with Deadbegone on the line. But in the ferns, there was no block to place a torch on. The night was dark and I couldn’t tell which way he went. Then I heard paw steps just a few blocks to my right. I rushed forward, yelling, Gotcha! and leapt onto the spot where I heard the noise.

The fox laughed deep in his belly. I believe you are mistaken.

In the dark there was no way to see, but it felt like I had fallen into a pile of tacks. Sharp needles stuck my hands and stabbed my neck, at anywhere my armor didn’t cover. I finally found a free block to throw down a torch and ended up planting it directly next to the fox. He looked down on me and smiled. (I didn’t know foxes could smile like that, but maybe that’s normal for foxes). Deadbegone lay at the fox’s side, its glimmering blade reflecting the torch back into my eyes. I squinted to see my surroundings. Red splotches dotted my vision and bunches of dark green plants pressed against me. I was trapped in a berry patch. A sweet berry patch, which meant it was full of thorns.

OW! I said, struggling against the bushes, but barely able to move. With every step my body was attacked. Worst of all, the fox was so close. I could almost grab him by his fluffy tail.

The fox smiled one last time before scooping up Deadbegone. Ta-ta! Have a wonderful evening, Steve the wise! the fox said and laughed. I heard his laughter echoing in the woods for hours afterwards (or maybe that was just in my mind). I spent the rest of the night cutting my way out of that briar patch. If I had had a pair of shears, I could have made mincemeat of those bushes, but I didn’t even have enough iron to craft one.

It is morning now. I am back at the campsite. As I suspected, my journal was left underneath a tree. It looked untouched, as if the fox hadn’t even opened it. I’m not sure which hurt more: losing the sword, or my journal being left behind. Surely this is a story worth reading?

Surely …

Chapter Three: Lucius

The 444th Day of the Skeleton Horse Hunt (Boney Pete, polar bears are worse than foxes)

I slept for a few hours to recover, had a breakfast of berries, (I had gathered armfuls of the fruit when I was trapped in them) and then began the hunt for the fox. I had to find the fox before I could hunt for Boney Pete. I needed that sword to continue my journey. I lumbered into the woods, stuffing berries into my mouth and bad mouthing the fox.

‘When I get my fingers around that fox’s neck, I’m gonna squeeze and squeeze, and I’m not gonna stop squeezing …unless I get tired, of course,’ I promised myself. I mimed squeezing the fox until blocky veins bulged on my head from strangling the air so hard. ‘And when he makes those sad fox noises, I won’t care,’ I thought to myself.

As if in response, I heard a sharp,

mournful cry echo through the woods. It sounded close but echoed like the inside of a cave, which made it hard to tell which direction it came from.

It sounded so sad…

No. This is a foxy trap and I will not fall for it! I said out loud. But my resolve was already faltering.

SKREEEeeeeeeeeeeee.... echoed the haunting voice. It was so sad, and it sounded hurt.

Soon I could hear words mixed into the animal screams. One word in particular: HELP! HELP! SKREE! SKREE! If this was a trick, it was a convincing one.

Even putting my hands over my ears, I could hear the cry. Could hear the sadness.

Even if it was a trap, I had to act.

Clouds moved in above me and rain began to fall. I followed the cries as best I could, but the trees I left behind looked the same as the ones I found ahead of me. Berry bushes and spruce trees. Berry bushes and spruce trees. BERRY BUSHES AND SPRUCE TREES!!!

But then … the voice cried out again and it sounded closer. I focused on the fading echo and felt absolutely sure that the noise was coming from my left. I charged head-first in that direction and shouted, I’m coming!

A few sweet berry bushes caught me in their brambles and invited me to stay for tea, but I politely declined and forged ahead, flinching from the thorn bites the whole way.

The trees cleared around a gravel patch and at the center was a four by four hole in the ground. It looked like some of the gravel had collapsed. I eyed the grey rocks warily. The entire patch could give way at any moment. I carefully made my way around it, making sure to step on the grass, when the voice cried again. The shrill noise cut the air next to me and I jumped in surprise. Sure enough, it was coming from the hole in the center of the gravel patch. I sighed and made my way towards it

Don’t place a block and you’ll be fine, I said to keep myself calm. Don’t place a torch and you’ll be fine. I inched closer to the hole.

SKREE!!!

AH! I yelled and tripped, falling forward and landing just in front of the hole. I flinched, closed my eyes, and waited for the gravel to collapse beneath me, but it remained stable. I opened my eyes and found myself staring down into the hole. There seemed to be a whole cave below the gravel patch. There were no torches down there, but even the weak sun overhead provided enough light to see in. Rain flew past my helmet and pooled at the bottom. There I saw the fox, his orange body now damp and shivering in a puddle of water. He yipped