Vol. 2 Ch. 16: Karma and the Tufted Titmouse

Author's note:

Recurring Characters:

Peter: The Protagonist of the story.

Mariah: Peter's Mom.

Tarin: A red-haired, 13-year-old boy whom Mariah and Peter found recently. He is skinny and the only survivor of a bandit attack.

Recap:

‘Something else is at play here,’ he thought, opening his IDE. ‘If the skills aren’t faulty, then that doesn’t leave a lot of culprits behind.’  

‘It’s to be one of these three: Negative Karma, or New Titles, or My Class.’ He thought, opening up the stat description of Karma.

...End of Author's Note...

Chapter: Karma and the Tufted Titmouse

...

[

Invoke –details [KARMA]

[ StatCore Kernel v.0 ]

> Query received: KARMA

> Parsing stat blueprint... ✓

> Accessing description node... ✓

> Displaying metadata:

[KARMA] – Primary Stat

Classification: Absolute Stat

> Description:

KARMA is the system’s measure of metaphysical consequence, reflecting a soul's accumulated moral weight across all actions, intents, and outcomes. Unlike alignment, Karma is neither inherently good nor evil; it is a living imprint of cause and effect, shaped by what one chooses and the reasons behind those choices.

A high positive Karma enhances one's harmony with forces of order, while negative Karma aligns one with chaos and corruption. Neutral Karma marks a state of balance, silence, or uncertainty in judgment.

KARMA does not represent morality, but resonance—how one’s soul aligns with the universal threads of fate and entropy.

> System Notes:

– This stat is embedded in the SoulCore and passively evolves through morally weighted choices.

– Karma subtly influences event outcomes, System intervention probability, faction reactions, and spiritual resistances.

> Tip: High Karma may conflict with certain magic or contracts.

> Tip: Use invoke –explain [Karma] to open the Karma description from the system archives.

> Tip: …

]

Peter carefully read the description, feeling uncertain after reading the second paragraph. ‘Aligns one with chaos and corruption…how?’

He exhaled, feeling frustrated, before deciding to open the system archives. He needed to make sure that Karma was not directly manipulating him to align more with chaos and corruption.

[

Invoke –explain [Karma]

[ StatCore Kernel v.0 ]

> Query received: Karma

> Fetching metaphysical definition node... ✓

> Reading from System Archive... ✓

> [Karma]

> Description:

“You have the right to perform your actions, but never to claim the fruits thereof.

Be not attached to outcomes, nor let your life be consumed by inaction.

The world may judge you by your deeds alone, my warrior, but the threads of Karma are spun from the loom of intent.

The world may praise you for slaying a tyrant or feeding the poor, but if the act was done for coin, for pride, or control, no true merit shall follow.

Thus, perform your duty equipoised, O Warrior, abandoning all attachment to the fruits of your labour.”

—Elyssaria, to a reluctant hero of the past.

“One may deceive the world with words and masks, but the soul records only truth.

Karma is the ink of the soul’s diary, written in strokes both seen and unseen.

But fear not, my child—selfless deeds, born of kindness and free from craving, tilt the scale of Karma toward harmony.

And though the world may forget, the System remembers.”

   — The ever-changing, ever-growing Yggdrassil to a repentant elven sorceress.

“The fool believes Karma to be a scale of reward. The wise know it is a mirror. No deed escapes the gaze of the System.

The soul is the traveller. Karma is the map it cannot erase, the ink it cannot choose to wash away.

Only through transformation of action may the path be redrawn.”

• The Immortal Empress, to a forgotten Beastlord.

“When one acts without binding desire—seeking neither gold nor glory—his Karma dissolves like mist beneath the morning light.

But alas, not all souls can walk such a path, for desire clings like a shadow to form.”

— The Immortal Empress, to the Sage Traveller

.

.

.

• End of Archive Node

]

Peter recalled the moment he eradicated the Kobolds—his intent behind it wasn’t the nicest.

‘If souls are eternal…who’s to say that a human wouldn’t be reincarnated into a monster one day?’ he mused, remembering that only memories get destroyed.

‘But…if killing monsters attracts negative karma…,’ he thought, ‘Plenty of people hunt monsters in dungeons every single day…why aren’t their karma values not changing?’

“Unless…” he muttered, quickly opening the title description of True Cultist.

Title…

[

True Cultist

Perform a ritual and sacrifice more than 100 beings.

Effect: - 500 karma

]

‘I sacrificed them…not just killed. A sacrificed soul might not be able to enter the circle of reincarnations temporarily…’ he guessed, wondering if that’s the reason behind such a high negative value.

Peter stilled, before quickly re-reading the description of Karma. He cursed, clutching his head. ‘How am I going to improve my karma?’ The text said it plain and clear: Kind deeds must also be selfless—never to claim the reward—to earn good karma.

‘How am I going to do that, now that I know this truth?’ Peter grumbled. ‘At least it’s not the culprit behind my aggressive thoughts…’ He sighed, closing the window and bringing up the advance description of one of his titles.

[

Invoke –details [the_walking_disaster]

[ Title Archive Kernel v.0]

> Query received: [The_Walking_Calamity]

> Accessing Title Memory Node... ✓

> Decryption complete. Displaying extended metadata...

[TITLE: THE WALKING CALAMITY]

> Origin: Deathknell Pact

> Classification: Soul-Bearing | Cataclysmic Archetype | Identity-Altering

.

.

.

> Description:

Become the master of the Bell That Heralds Calamity.

> Effect: Grants the user the ability to wear Deathknell — the Eldritch Spirit of the Abyss — as a Spirit Armament in the form of a living, shroud-like cloak.

> Influence Subroutine: [Active]

All Specialised Titles within the Identity-Class possess subtle resonance effects on behaviour and cognitive expression.

> Side Effect Matrix — [Walking Calamity]:

• Increased tolerance to destruction and loss

• Diminished empathy toward large-scale devastation

• Gradual desensitasation of collateral damage

• Attraction to high-risk scenarios

• Looser moral restraints when opposed or threatened

Note: Those of weak will may find themselves becoming not just a harbinger, but the very calamity the world fears.

.

.

.

]

‘Found it,’ Peter thought, grinding his teeth. ‘Now…let’s find a solution.’ He spent an hour going through all the options that might solve this problem. He couldn’t get rid of the title anytime soon, as the easiest solution was to get rid of his contract with DeathKnell, which he didn’t have the means for at the moment.

The most optimal solution was to get a title that could work as a counterbalance. He was just not sure how he was going to get such a title.

…

The little titmouse flew up, dodging dried leaves still clinging to the tree branches. Soon, she was above the green sky, under the blue sky. She loved the blue sky.

The wind tickled her feathers as she climbed higher. Flying was her favourite thing, besides the crunchy bugs and the hot mango in the blue sky. She looked away from it, eyes blinking constantly. She forgot. No staring at the mango. Ouchie.

She zipped to the side, hearing a faint buzzing noise. She knew what it was. Yellow bugs. She spotted it, eyeing it from directly above. A dive followed, and she successfully had the bumblebee in her beak.

She gulped, her chest filled with pride. A flutter, and she changed course again. Rolling as she went. She chirped once—loud and melodic—remembering about the task that the little two legs assigned her.

She must find the bad two legs first before the others. The little two legs promised them lots of nuts. She looked below as she glided forward. Green-green-green… Blue. Blue? She stopped, hovering in the air.

She recalled what he said. “They’ll likely be close to a water source.” She looked around, following the river. Blue-blue-green-blue…fish.

She chirped constantly, growing anxious. Maybe the bad two legs weren’t in her searching area. Just then, she spotted stinky air rising in the distance. She hated stinky air. It smelled bad. She was about to turn away, but then stopped.

Two legs had a habit of creating stinky air. She chirped, feeling happy, before rushing toward the stinky air. She beat her wings faster, unable to control her excitement.

Reaching closer, she started to circle. Her heart fluttered faster than her wings. She tilted her head, sharp black eyes catching a glint of something unnatural below. A flutter, a tilt and a sharp dive. She landed on a twisted branch.

Below, the ground was wrong. Too flat, too clean. Leaves broken. Dirt scratched. And something that glinted like morning frost.

She chirped quietly. Not a warning, not a song. Just… curious. She saw them—some humans. Each carried long, sharp claws. They kept talking with each other, just like chatty squirrels. She wanted to know what that means. Maybe the little human would share their meaning with her if she sang for him? She tilted her head, chirping softly.

She jumped from branch to branch, wanting to get a better look. She observed them digging holes, laying traps. She chirped, laughing at how clumsy they were. So loud. How are they going to catch any rabbits and deer?

A growl stole her attention, and she snapped her neck to the side. A tied dog kept growling at her. She didn’t like that, causing her to chirp continuously back at it. Peter-peter-peter-peter…

It started to bark loudly, making her jump in fright. The long humans quickly shut it down, making her feel satisfied. She watched some more, seeing the humans roam around a large cave. She wanted to explore it, but fear kept her clinging to the branch.

In the end, she decided that it was enough. The little human was sure to be satisfied with this.

She beat her wings and took to the air again, wings whispering against the wind as she veered back toward the distant, following the pull she had with the little human. Nuts awaited her return.

…

Tarin ran, weaving around the trunks. His heart was beating like a drum, and his legs hurt. Despite that, he continued running, his jaw clenched. He turned his head and spotted three distant figures still chasing him. His sweat soaked clothes clung to his body as he ran.

Tarin pushed himself desperately, climbing higher on the slope. Somewhere behind, his mother desperately screamed—telling him to run faster.

The trees thinned as dirt gave way to hardened rocks beneathhis feet— before the ground completely disappeared from under him. A scream tore through his dry throat as he fell into an endless darkness.

Someone shook him violently. Gasping loudly, Tarin jerked into a sitting position. He looked around, eyes wide with anxiety.

Mariah cupped his cheeks, kneeling beside him. “It’s alright. Just a bad dream,” she said, turning his face to stare into his eyes. “You’re fine. No bad people here.” She added, wiping his face with a cloth.

“Here,” she said, passing him a wooden cup. “Have some water.”

He hastily took the cup from her hands, spilling some water on his pants during the process, before gulping it all down.

Peter stood silently a few steps behind Mariah.

Putting the cup away, Tarin crawled on his knees past her before hugging Peter’s legs. “Please…I’ll do anything. Please save them,” he said, face twisted as he wept.

“I’m trying my best.” Peter said, his voice soft and gentle.

“You lie!” Taring shouted, stepping back and locking eyes with him. “Two days! It’s been two days and…all that you do is sit alone for hours. You call that trying your best?”

Peter looked behind him, watching as Mariah shook her head. He sighed. “You just had a bad dream,” He said, before turning around. “We’ll talk later.” He added, walking away into the woods.

…

Peter leaned his back against the trunk, standing on the highest branch that could support his weight on the tree. His scouts had returned empty-handed so far, making him rethink his strategy. He wondered if using birds to search the whole forest was really a good idea.

‘It’s hard to say how long the river carried him till he reached the fountain…’ he mused, watching curiously as a tiny bird approached from his left.

It circled him, not wanting to land just yet. Peter smiled, pulling some seeds from his pocket before displaying them openly on his open palm. The bird suddenly dived and landed on his palm.

It chirped repeatedly, swinging its head left and right. Peter-peter-peter-peter. Peter chuckled, amused by the fact that it sounded a lot like it was repeating his name.

‘Looks like this little bird is about to sing good news to me,’ he thought.

...End of Chapter 16...

It's funny, but a tufted titmouse can sound like it's repeating peter-peter-peter.
Here is a link of youtube video: https://youtu.be/VTPfQWx6yf4