Vol. 2 Ch. 33: Acts of Kindness

Author's Note:

Recurring Characters:

Peter: The protagonist of this novel.

Mariah: Peter's mother. You can find her picture in the Art collection.

Lidia: One of Mariah's friends, whom Matteo (Mariah's younger brother) used to have a crush on. She had been explored in the chapter "Dream and the past" if you're interested in her appearance when she was young.

Tessa: Lidia and Matteo's second child.

Mira: Lidia and Matteo's first child.

Elena: Mariah and Matteo's mother. She first appeared in the chapter "Dream and the Past".
Gregor: Mariah and Matteo's father. He first appeared in the chapter "Dream and the Past". He's a former adventurer.

...End of Author's note...

…

The days slipped by with a peaceful rhythm, each one deepening Peter’s place in the household. Mornings were spent at the inn, wiping down tables, carrying trays, and listening…always listening. The flow of gossip came and went with the patrons, but certain patterns began to stand out. Whispers about the Thorns gang growing bolder, rumours of a new mage, having recently advanced into tier two, joining their ranks, and concern over their push toward Guild Street. Peter tucked the information away in his IDE carefully for later use.

In the afternoons, he walked with Mariah to the café, where his new runic tutor lived. The hours spent there were deeply rewarding and satisfying. He strengthened his grasp of runic language at a fast enough pace that Jason grew less grumpy and more willing to teach him the art of enchanting. Peter took a sigh of relief, knowing very well that he had an unfair advantage that Jason didn’t know about. His recently heightened intelligence stat, which was only four points away from fifty, provided him with a significantly enhanced memorisation ability, and the copied notes in his IDE allowed him to study at his convenience. On top of it all, he was already extremely familiar with the underlying concept behind the language.

Evenings belonged to family. After dinner, the children were not allowed in the diner since alcohol was served late into the night. Peter felt a deep sense of regret about it. Booze had a way of loosening mouths, and missing out on those late-night conversations was frustrating. But rules were rules. With nothing better to do, he spent that time with his cousins, getting to know them better. Mira, the calm and composed one, often spoke about her dream of becoming a professional entertainer—something her class aligned with. Tessa, lively and full of ambition, had decided she would grow up to be a powerful merchant and someday buy an entire district. They pulled him into their games and shared stories, past mischief, and personal secrets. He let himself laugh with them, fully playing the part of the younger cousin. But beneath the smile, his mind stayed alert, observing and piecing together the city’s shifting currents like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

And just like that, it was the night before Solace.

The Guild Street—no, the entire city—glowed with lanternlight and swaying ribbons of dyed cloth, which were covered in a slimy substance extracted from insectoid monsters of the dungeon that glowed in darkness. Woven streamers hung between wooden posts, and paper charms fluttered from doorways, catching the breeze every once in a while. Oil lamps lined the roads.

Peter stood just outside the inn with Tess and Mira, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his tunic. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, spiced pastries, and sweet honeyed wine, drifting from the food stalls that lined the cobbled path. A chill rolled in from the river, curling around ankles and clinging to the edges of cloaks and shawls. People had poured into the streets, leaving behind their homes to celebrate with family and friends. Musicians sat along corners and squares, tuning their lutes and tightening drumskins, while dancers twirled and swayed to the rising rhythm, drawing cheers and laughter from the gathering crowd.

“Looks even better than last year,” Mira said softly, her eyes following a street performer who took a swig from a flask, then sprayed it in a wide arc. The torch in her hand caught the mist mid-air, setting it ablaze in a burst of flame that drew gasps and applause from the crowd.

Tessa skipped ahead a few steps, then spun on her heel to face them. “I heard they’re doing a play near the fountain. Shall we go and see?”

“What kind of play?” Peter asked, growing interested.

“Most likely the same old basilisk story,” Mira said, walking forward with a shrug.

“Basilisk story?” Peter mumbled, falling in step after them as they led the way toward the fountain square.

“Yeah, it’s a popular one around here. You’ll see. I don’t want to spoil it for you.”

The fountain square was already packed full of people by the time they arrived. A small crowd had gathered around a raised wooden platform near the centre, hastily built by combining sturdy tables and covering them with carpet, just enough to hold a performance.

Tessa darted ahead, weaving through the crowd with Mira and Peter close behind. They somehow managed to find an empty spot near the front and squeezed onto it, shoulder to shoulder.

Peter glanced around. A rope was used to separate the wooden platform from the audience, and children stood grabbing the rope, their eyes wide with anticipation. A man standing on the other side—likely the organiser—handed out small cones of roasted nuts to everyone. Somewhere to the side, someone played a cheerful tune on a flute, fading as the crowd grew quieter.

A pair of actors stepped onto the platform, one in armour and another wearing a mage’s cloak. Both of them bowed to the audience before disappearing somewhere.

“It’s about to start,” Mira whispered with a grin. “Enjoy.”

Peter leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite himself.

Then the drums began, slow and steady, like a heartbeat, gathering the crowd’s attention on the stage.

A sudden puff of smoke burst from the platform’s edge, rolling across the wooden planks and spilling down to the cobbles. Gasps and excited murmurs rippled through the audience as a subtle shimmer passed through the air. A man in flowing robes stepped forward through the haze, raising his arms as the smoke swirled behind him.

“Long ago,” the narrator said, his voice amplified by some skill, “a great serpent made its lair in the depths of the forest outside Rosefall. Its gaze turned all who approached into stone, and its hiss hung like a curse over the city.”

He stepped back as another burst of smoke rolled across the stage, the illusion of a looming forest forming behind him. “This… is the story of how a small band of adventurers dared to face the beast—and saved us all.”

As the narrator stepped back, four adventurers emerged to replace him in the illusion of the forest. The knight led, shield raised, followed by a tall spear-wielder, a twin-blade rogue, and a cloaked mage with glowing runes along her sleeves. The crowd clapped as each paused in stylised poses.

“A couple of new additions,” Mira murmured. “I liked the actress who played the mage last year.”

Tessa leaned in slightly, watching the actors move into formation. “Maybe she decided to retire. She was growing a bit older for the role.”

The cloaked mage raised her staff, and a soft glow pulsed from the runes along her arms. The illusory forest darkened, and a deep hiss echoed through the square. Fog thickened near the back of the stage, and from within it, the basilisk emerged.

Peter’s eyes widened in surprise at how lifelike the illusion was. The creature was massive, longer than a couple of carts and half as wide, its scales catching the lantern lights like reflective mirrors. Its emerald eyes glowed faintly as it slithered forward, half coiled around the tree trunks, tongue flicking out with eerie sharpness. The illusion was good. Too good.

The rogue darted forward, only to freeze mid-lunge as the basilisk’s gaze swept across the stage. He dropped with a dramatic thud, limbs locked in place, face twisted in horror.

Tessa gasped beside him, fully invested in the play. Mira looked at the show with a scrutinising expression, studying every little detail.

The knight shouted a heroic dialogue, then charged forward, drawing the creature’s attention by slamming his sword over his shield. The spear-wielder moved to the flank, dodging and striking in a flurry of choreographed moves. Meanwhile, the mage chanted, her runes pulsing faster with each word.

Peter watched, fascinated. It all looked so real.

The basilisk hissed again, lunging forward. At the same moment, the knight raised his polished shield—its mirrored surface catching the stage lights—and angled it just right. A final burst of magic lit the stage as the beast recoiled, its petrifying gaze turning against it. The basilisk shuddered, hissed, and froze mid-motion before crumbling into shimmering dust that drifted into the night air.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Tessa jumped to her feet, clapping wildly. “This part is always the best!”

Peter smiled faintly, though his mind was still turning over the details. The performers, including the illusionist, were experts at what they did.

…

The sound of a conch shell woke Peter up in the early morning. It echoed through the street like an announcement of some accomplishment, deep and solemn. He blinked against the light filtered through the thin curtains, his thoughts quickly clearing as Undying Vitality pulsed once.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. A thin layer of dew clung to the windowpane, and the smell of breakfast drifted in from below. The conch shell continued to be heard, and sounds of large bells joined it.

Peter jumped from the bed and noticed Mariah’s absence from the room. She had likely woken up much earlier than he and decided to let him enjoy his dreams. He quickly freshened up, taking a quick shower right after, before getting dressed. Once he was done checking himself in the mirror, he stepped outside the room, somewhat excited to experience all the festivities.

The hallway was alive with motion. Peter followed the other guests, descending the stairs alongside them. The diner had been transformed overnight. Every table had been pushed to the sides, allowing more space for people to stand and mingle freely.

Behind a long table stacked with fruit and sweet cakes, Lidia and Elena worked side by side, handing out food to anyone willing to take it. There was no coin exchanged and no ledgers marked. It was all free of cost, a simple gesture of charity in celebration.

Peter offered a polite nod to Lidia as he passed, and she responded with a quick smile before turning to help the next guest. The atmosphere buzzed with cheerful conversation, the clinking of cups, and the occasional burst of laughter. Even the usual scent of ale and smoke had been replaced by something lighter—baked sugar, ripe berries, and the faint tang of citrus peel.

Once he stepped outside, Peter spotted Mariah and his cousins nearby, doing something similar. The only difference was that they were serving warm stew to the impoverished folk from the slums, who were slowly making their way toward the cathedral. Steam rose from the large pot beside them, and the smell of seasoned broth lingered in the cool morning air.

Mariah ladled another portion into a wooden bowl and handed it off with a soft smile. The recipient, an elderly man with worn clothes and sunken cheeks, gave her a quiet nod of thanks before shuffling away to the side to finish the bowl.

Peter approached, his eyes sweeping across the street. Everywhere he looked, people were engaged in small acts of kindness. The tailor stood near his shopfront, handing out folded clothes and thick blankets to those who needed them. A group of children, guided by a pair of older women, passed out dried fruit and nuts wrapped in paper cones.

There was a warmth to the morning beyond the sunlight, something deeper than ritual or tradition. A sense of unity, fleeting but real.

Peter exhaled, stepping beside Mariah. “Need any help?”

She glanced his way, brushing a strand of hair from her brow. “Yes. You can collect the bowls from those who’ve already eaten and clean them. We’re running low, and we can’t serve more stew without them.”

Peter nodded. “On it.”

He turned and began moving through the small crowd gathered to the side, picking up empty bowls from the ground or collecting them one by one from the people who had just finished eating.

Most offered a tired smile or muttered thank-you. Some just nodded, too weak to say much, but grateful nonetheless. People moved forward, either going to other shops or toward the cathedral, while Peter focused on his task.

…End of Chapter…